


Trials 01: Tom's Trials

by TextheTallOne



Series: Trials Series [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextheTallOne/pseuds/TextheTallOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres are getting set to begin a closer relationship. Suddenly Torres changes her mind, leaving Paris at loose ends. He befriends a friendless young woman---then Torres changes her mind again. Maybe.<br/>This story takes place sometime after Blood Fever and assumes Kes and Neelix haven't broken up yet. (Possibly an alternate timeline?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials 01: Tom's Trials

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the show, the characters, and the best parts of the known world. This story and Shadow and Dishon are mine. Ethan Simms, Janine Lamont, and Mikel Hudson are inventions of the PT Collective.

TRIALS 1: Tom's Trials   
by TerriTrek

While striding down the corridor, Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres and Ensign Ethan Simms were conferring on modifications made to the transporter and how Security procedures would be affected. As they rounded the corner near Holodeck 2, both screeched to a halt, the conversation dying at once. 

There, leaning against the wall next to the holodeck entrance, was Lieutenant Tom Paris embracing another woman---a small blonde woman---Ensign Janine Lamont. Her head was resting on his chest. His head was bent over hers.

For a millisecond, Torres thought she had been stabbed through the heart by a Klingon d'k tahg, the pain she felt was that sharp. She had always thought the term 'heartache' was a figurative term. She now knew for a fact it wasn't. Next to her, she was vaguely aware of Simms' grunt of surprise---shock---whatever. She darted a glimpse at him and saw he seemed as stunned and hurt as she felt. 

The feeling lasted for about a split second. In that moment, she glanced back at Paris and he raised his head. The expression on his face was not that of a guilty man caught in the act---it was the panic-stricken look of a man who saw rescue on the way. Silently, he mouthed the word "Help!"

Totally bewildered and off-balance from the strong emotions seesawing within, Torres took a tentative step closer and observed more carefully. Lamont wasn't hugging Paris as much as clinging to him as she---sobbed. She was crying as if her heart was breaking. Paris telegraphed his sense of helplessness with his widened blue eyes and the somewhat tentative manner in which he was patting Lamont's back.

Torres' eyes narrowed. 'What did you do?' her expression said as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud. Tom somehow managed to look outraged, innocent, and defenseless all at the same time. 

Ethan Simms took a step forward. He looked angry. Torres restrained him with an arm across his chest and a shake of her head. She gestured for him to go back around the corner, waited for him to comply, then followed ignoring Paris' look of pleading. 

As soon as they were out of sight she raised her voice slightly, "Ethan, what do you think we should do about the transporter modifications?"

Simms looked at her, bewildered. 

She thumped his arm. He stammered, "I don't know, Lieutenant. What do you think?" It was tentative, but it served the purpose. 

Having given ample evidence of their approach, they rounded the corner. Lamont had straightened and was making an effort to hide the traces of tears and act as if nothing was wrong. "Excuse me, Lieutenant Paris," she blurted and practically ran down the corridor. 

Paris looked totally relieved. "Thanks, B'Elanna!"

"What did you do to her?" Surprisingly the question was rapped out by Ethan Simms, not B'Elanna Torres. The rush of anger sent his blood pressure rocketing and reddened the young man's skin from his neck to the roots of his dark auburn hair.

Paris, a little taken aback by the ferocity in his tone, answered soothingly. "Nothing. I swear." He noticed the answer didn't satisfy either party so he continued. "We'd just finished her piloting lesson in the shuttle simulation. I noticed she seemed a little down, so I asked if something was wrong. She muttered something about anonymous love letters she's been getting, then she burst into tears. I didn't know what to do. I'm not good with women in tears," he confided to B'Elanna. 

Ethan paled as quickly as he'd blushed. "She was upset about the letters?" His voice sounded strangled.

Paris mulled it over. "Actually, I'm not sure I understood exactly what she said. I think she asked if I wrote them or knew who did. When I told her I didn't, she said something about they were so sweet. That's when she started crying. Does that make any sense to you, B'Elanna?"

"No," Torres answered sharply. "And I don't have time to talk about it!" She took off as if launched, heading for the turbolift.

Paris watched her go, then turned to Simms bemusedly. "Women! What's she upset about?"

"I wouldn't know, sir!" Ethan sneered sarcastically, then took off after the Chief Engineer.

Paris ran his fingers through his blond hair, tousling it into a disarray of curls. "Now what is he mad about? Geez, Paris, you have a natural talent for aggravating people. Men, women, ensigns, lieutenants! Well, I guess it's only fair that you should be an equal opportunity annoyer!" He decided to return to his quarters and read a book---before he got everyone on the ship ticked off at him. Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed.

**************************

Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres was trying to pretend Lieutenant Tom Paris was invisible. She had been doing it throughout her duty period. Right now it was more difficult since the handsome, six feet, three inches tall man was standing directly across the table from her holding two cups of raktajino. She buried her nose in her datapadd and refused to look up or speak. 

Undaunted, Tom sat down in the chair opposite hers and slid one cup across the table. "Just the way you like it, ma'am." 

There was an uncomfortable pause. 

"B'Elanna? Could you at least tell me what I did? I'd like to know what I'm apologizing for. It generally helps with the wording." He set his own cup down, untasted. And waited, his cornflower blue eyes pleading his case silently and effectively.

After a moment, B'Elanna put down the datapadd. She wrapped her hands around her cup as if seeking its warmth, and seemed to find its contents so fascinating she couldn't take her eyes off it. She flicked a quick glance at Paris. He was searching her expression hopefully for a positive reaction. He looked serious for a change---and vulnerable. B'Elanna hesitated, trying to think how she wanted to phrase her response. 

The pause stretched on---just too long. Paris' mouth twisted wryly before he managed to shape it into his careless smile. "Well, I never force my attentions on a lady," he said and started to stand, trying for nonchalance.

"Tom!" Torres whispered urgently, grabbing his wrist. "Sit down."

His expression remained carefully neutral with a hint of a smile---it reminded her of when she had first seen him in the Ocampa tunnels---trying not to show Harry Kim how worried he'd been at the younger man's disappearance. He was very good at hiding his feelings. But she knew she'd hurt him---mostly with her sudden silence. He was waiting---and she still wasn't sure what she wanted to say. "I'm sorry, Tom. I haven't been fair to you." She ground to a halt.

His eyes softened. He reached across the table and touched her hand. "What is it, B'Elanna? What did I do? I honestly don't know what I did to upset you."

"I know you don't. It's not you, Tom. It's me!" She drew her hand away from his and clasped her cup, staring at it so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. 

Paris tried to mask the hurt he felt at her rejection of his touch. He'd had conversations that started like this before. It *never* turned out well. It usually ended with 'Can't we just be friends?' He felt a chill run up his spine and caress the base of his skull. "I don't understand. What's wrong?"

Torres licked her dry lips. "This morning---" She stopped again.

Paris raised his brows and leaned closer, almost as if to pull the words out of her. "This morning?" He frowned. "You mean---you *can't* mean that business with Ensign Lamont?" 

Torres nodded. 

"B'Elanna, I didn't ask her to cry all over me---and you do know that I'm not the one sending her love notes?"

"I know that. I guess I knew that---it's just---" Torres couldn't believe how hard it was for her just to tell him the truth. She took a deep breath. "The truth is---this morning when I saw you with Lamont---I thought---at first, I thought you were kissing her!"

"Kissing her?!" Paris was genuinely astonished. "I hardly know her!"

"That's not exactly a prerequisite, Paris!" Torres snarled. "Besides, she's a short blonde---"

"What has that got to do with anything?" he protested. 

"I thought at first it was Kes," she muttered. 

"Kes?" Paris repeated, and then as the light dawned, "Kes! Oh, I see. I think. I think I see. You heard about me saying I thought I was in love with Kes. But that's not true, B'Elanna. I find Kes attractive---but I'm not in love with her." 

"That's not what you told Harry," Torres retorted. 

"Remind me to kill Harry later," Paris said, rubbing his forehead. He gazed into Torres' eyes. "B'Elanna, Kes is attractive. But I think the reason I---the reason I tried to talk myself into believing it was something more than friendship is because---" Tom raked his fingers through his hair as he tried to think of the right words. "Because I envied Neelix. You've seen the way Kes looks at him. I look at him---I see a short, round, funny-looking guy. She looks at him---it's like he's the strongest, bravest, hero in the galaxy. I think I really just wanted somebody---anybody to look at me like that. I just wanted---want---a relationship with someone who knows me---the real me---and loves me anyway."

Torres could hardly breathe. She had never expected Tom to be so direct or so open. It just made it harder for her to say what she wanted---no, needed to say. "Tom, I know that we've been through a lot together recently, and it may have caused us to feel things that---that we're not really ready to deal with."

"What are you saying, B'Elanna?" He didn't want to ask, but he had to know.

"I'm saying that maybe danger and propinquity and overactive hormones have caused us to---misjudge our feelings---maybe we're rushing into a relationship we---neither one of us is ready for." She met his gaze directly. Trying not to let her voice get out of control, she spoke in measured tones, "We haven't made any commitment to each other. I think maybe we should back off for a while---and not see so much of each other---socially, I mean---one on one. We can still be friends."

His withdrawal back into his public persona of carefree charm was visible and as obvious as if he stood and drew it on like a coat---or a suit of armor. "If that's what you want," he said carelessly. Then he stood and walked away without a backward glance.

B'Elanna watched till the doors slid closed behind him. "Damn!"

************

Harry Kim had to ask the computer to locate Lieutenant Tom Paris. He was surprised to hear that Paris was in the ship's gym. He was worried and even more surprised when he finally located his friend.

Paris was exercising intensely on an aerodyne bike, his arms pushing with tremendous exertion on the handles while his feet pumped furiously to keep up with his demands. His face was red with exertion, sweat was dripping from his face and body in rivulets, and his royal blue tank top and shorts were almost navy in color from the dampness they'd absorbed. His total concentration seemed to be on the gauge indicating speed and duration. He didn't show any signs of slowing down or stopping either, though his breathing was becoming ragged.

"Hi," Harry said, approaching the front of the bike so he could see Paris' face. 

Paris flickered a glance at him then returned his attention to the gauge. "I don't want to talk about it, Harry," he growled emphatically.

Harry tried to look innocent---not much of a stretch for him. "I don't know what you mean. Are you all right? How long have you been ---exercising?"

"Not long enough." Paris could hardly speak. It took too much breath. 

"Tom, you look terrible. You need to cool down."

"I know what I need. I need to be left alone." But as exhaustion began to overtake him physically, he was involuntarily beginning to slow down his frenzied assault on the machine. As he slowed his pace, he gazed at Harry. "Gossip sure travels fast. How did you find out?"

Kim was reluctant to answer. He could tell Paris was in pain whether he wanted to discuss it or not, and he didn't want to worsen a bad situation. "Kes. She was worried about you---about both of you---she heard---Something she heard made her think it might be her fault."

Tom exploded off the bike, leaving the wheel turning and marched toward the padded wall of the gym. "Damn!" He hit the pad with his fist---so hard, his arm bounced back. He leaned his head on his other arm against the wall and tried to slow his breathing. "I hope you told her it had nothing to do with her."

Harry drew closer. He wanted to comfort Paris, but didn't know what to say or do. "I told her. I don't know if she believed me."

Tom spun and leaned his back against the wall, looking at Kim for probably the first time without the slightest hint of a smile. "I do this every time. It happens every single time. Why do I keep trying? Everyone who gets near me gets hurt. Even Kes." The redness was starting to fade, leaving Tom almost ashy looking. His jaw clenched tightly. "B'Elanna---Kes---I just can't win. Maybe you'd better just keep your distance, Harry. Akritiria was bad enough. God knows what kind of mess I'll get you into next." He started to walk away. 

Kim grabbed his shoulder. "Tom. Maybe B'Elanna meant what she said. Maybe she's scared and she just needs a little more time. Don't give up!"

Paris jerked away from him. "Oh, I'm sure she did mean it. She needs more time. There's *always* going to be an excuse. Face it, Harry, I just didn't measure up---*again*. I think it's more than time to stop putting myself on the target range. I left myself wide open for her to take a shot. I won't be available for that kind of hurt or rejection any more. Why try to be taken seriously? No one's interested in a serious Tom Paris. They want Tom Paris the clown---the funny man---the flirt---the life of the party. No one's interested in the real me. From now on, that's what they want---that's what they'll get! I can play that game. Hell, I've been doing it all my life! What's another seventy years?"

Harry watched helplessly as his exhausted best friend stumbled into the corridor. "Damn!" 

***********************

The senior staff meeting was winding down. As usual, after dealing with the business at hand, Captain Janeway offered, "That's all I have. Does anyone have anything else we need to discuss?"

Chakotay cleared his throat and nodded. He seemed reluctant to speak.

"Yes, Commander?"

"About the promotion lists, you wanted us to prepare---" Chakotay hesitated as he scrolled through the padd before him on the briefing room table.

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

Chakotay glanced from Lt. Tuvok to Lt. Torres, then returned his gaze to the captain. "Yes, Captain. You could say that."

"Well?"

Paris and Kim didn't know what was going on. They seemed to be out of the loop, but this promised to be interesting. At least, Tom thought, there's *one* problem on the ship that has nothing to do with me.

Chakotay punched a few buttons and brought up a picture of a crewmember on the computer screen. "This is Crewman Shadow, formerly of my Maquis crew. She's been recommended for promotion by her supervising senior officers."

The display showed a young woman with an absolute lack of expression that seemed almost Vulcan. She was human, average-looking, very tall, with extremely short black hair, tanned skin, high cheekbones, and dark green eyes. 

Janeway began to look a little impatient, but also puzzled. "She doesn't look familiar to me." That would be a source of irritation to her since the captain made a special effort to know every member of the crew by name. She'd visited every department during every shift assignment at some time in the last six months. "So what's the problem? If she's doing well enough to be recommended for promotion by her supervisor---?"

"By *both* her supervisors," Chakotay clarified. "While going through the list of suggested promotions, I discovered that Crewman Shadow was working Beta Shift in Maintenance and Repair under Lt. Torres. In addition, she's been working Gamma shift as a Security Officer under Lt. Tuvok's supervision."

"She's been pulling double-duty? No wonder I haven't seen her around!" Paris interjected. "When does she sleep?"

"Presumably during Alpha Shift, Lieutenant," Tuvok replied dryly, ignoring the exasperated glance the pilot shot at him, with the ease of long practice.

"How long has this been going on?" Janeway demanded.

Chakotay shrugged. "Since the Maquis first came aboard and joined the crew. Malista tends to be---very quiet. She blends into the background as much as possible. It's easy for her to be unnoticed. That was one of her values in the Maquis. She was an information gatherer among other things."

"How could she get away with this for so long?" Harry Kim wondered aloud, anticipating Janeway's next question. "Her name should have shown up on the daily reports in each division."

Torres looked uncomfortable. "She must have altered the reports."

"Not necessarily," Paris disagreed, carefully not looking at Torres. He kept his eyes on Janeway. "If she avoided signing reports, her name might not appear. If her work was good, but nothing outstanding occurred on her watch, her name might not appear. The fields she chose don't overlap in responsibilities so the supervisors wouldn't notice the duplication. A better question is---why?"

"Why what?" Kim asked for clarification. 

Paris shot him an impatient glance. "Why would she want to work a double shift? She wouldn't have a social life at all. All work and no play. You know."

Janeway nodded slowly. "That is a good question, Tom. Her supervisors each recommended her for promotion, so she must be doing well. But why? Any theories, Commander?"

Chakotay looked at Torres and raised his eyebrows, silently turning the question over to her. She stared at the captain. "Malista has always worked hard. Her work is her life. She has to stay busy. She probably knew she wouldn't be allowed to do double duty if she asked permission---so she didn't ask."

A memory suddenly flitted to the forefront of Janeway's mind as she gazed at the picture of the crewmember under discussion. "I remember her now. Every time I've seen her, Crewman Dishon was with her. She doesn't talk much. He did most of the talking for the both of them."

"There's a reason for that, Captain," Chakotay said. "The two of them served in the same Maquis resistance cell. They were part of a group that was captured by the Cardassians. Those two were the only survivors when the Maquis broke them out of the Cardassian base camp. They'd been---let's just say the Cardassians didn't treat them well." Chakotay's words left a lot of room for speculation. The Cardassian reputation for torture and mistreatment of prisoners was well known. It was better not to imagine what Shadow and Dishon had gone through before their rescue.

"That's why she doesn't want to be around people. She works all the time. It was the same on the Maquis ship. The only person she talks to is Niko Dishon---if she even talks to him. I've never heard her say more than two words to anyone else unless it had something to do with the work they were doing," Torres added. 

Janeway frowned. "This can't go on. Commander, I suggest you get Crewman Shadow up here. You and I will find out which duty assignment she wishes to keep and try to address her lack of socialization. Her health may also be in question---physical and emotional."

Chakotay nodded his agreement. "I would suggest we also ask Crewman Dishon to be present. It would put Malista at ease."

"If she's that uncomfortable around others, how has she lasted on a ship this size for this long a period without incident?" Janeway asked. "Perhaps we need to look into getting her some counseling. You and I will discuss this, Commander. The rest of you are dismissed."

***********************

The captain and the commander conferred for almost half an hour before summoning Crewman Shadow. She entered the bridge and disappeared into the captain's ready room with Crewman Dishon on her heels. 

Spinning his chair to face the Ops station, Paris exchanged looks with Kim. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall!"

"Why? Do you think she'll actually make trouble because they relieve her of one job?" Kim understood dedication to one's work. He just had a hard time believing someone would work to the exclusion of all else---except when working on special projects. That was different.

Paris smiled at his friend. "She's gotten away with it so long, it's a habit. Habits can be the devil to break."

"You should know," Torres snorted. "How many have you broken? I thought your bad habits were still ongoing?"

Paris ignored her as if she hadn't spoken, turning back to the helm and concentrating on the controls and readouts.

Torres looked at Kim. It wasn't like Paris to let a remark like that go unchallenged. Kim shrugged. Torres turned back to the Engineering console. They were on course and routine monitoring of the instrumentation was all that was necessary. The bridge was uncommonly quiet.

The doors to the briefing room slid open. Captain Janeway led the other three onto the bridge. Dishon and Shadow went straight to the turbolift, their faces wooden and unreadable. Janeway and Chakotay took their seats without comment.

The bridge was uncommonly quiet all that shift.

***********************

 

At the end of the Alpha Shift, the captain and the first officer adjourned to the ready room once more. Chakotay handed a copy of the promotion lists to Janeway. "These are the final recommendations. Of course, we still have to decide how---"

"Sickbay to Captain Janeway. Please turn to your Emergency Medical Holographic channel."

Janeway activated the viewscreen in the center of the table. "Yes, Doctor?"

The doctor appeared to be miffed. "Captain, I have a report for you on Crewman Malista Shadow."

The captain had ordered Shadow to Sickbay for a physical to make sure that working double shifts for an extended time hadn't adversely affected her health.

"Yes, Doctor?" Kathryn repeated.

"Like almost every other member of the crew of this ship, Crewman Shadow is reluctant, recalcitrant---" the doctor complained.

"Did she refuse an examination?" Chakotay interrupted.

"No. She did make it clear she does not like to be touched, but she didn't refuse to be examined. She did, however, refuse to answer questions. She answered 'yes' or 'no' or in one word sentences!" The doctor seemed outraged. 

"I'm sorry you didn't find her conversation entertaining, Doctor, but how is her health? That is our primary concern," Janeway reminded.

"Her physical health is fine. As to her mental health---" he hesitated.

"Yes?"

He bristled visibly. "It's difficult to assess mental state with such a total lack of cooperation. She is obviously withdrawn, antisocial, and non-communicative. She lacks social skills and seems to be uneasy around other crewmembers."

"Do you believe she should be relieved of duty?" asked the captain. "Is her mental state dangerous?"

The doctor shook his head impatiently. "No, of course not. In fact, relieving her of duty would do more harm than good. The little I was able to glean from her responses tells me that she feels she has value only as long as she is useful. Counseling would be helpful in helping her to become adept socially. Successful counseling, however, requires that the patient wishes to be helped. This patient doesn't."

"What makes you think so?" Chakotay asked.

"She said so. Adamantly. She wishes to be left alone. She accused me of pestering ---pestering---her with excessive curiosity!" he proclaimed indignantly. "Excessive curiosity is not in my programming!"

"I hope you told her so," Chakotay suggested with false sympathy.

Janeway sent him a quelling glance then turned her attention to the EMH. "Thank you, Doctor. We appreciate your report and will take it under advisement." She napped off the viewscreen without waiting for a reply. "Well, Commander?"

Chakotay ran the fingers of his left hand through his cropped hair. "I knew she wouldn't be happy with a physical. She doesn't like doctors. And he's right. She doesn't like to be touched."

"Commander, why do I get the feeling you know more than you've said?" Janeway asked thoughtfully.

Chakotay's worried brown eyes met hers. "Because you're a smart woman? You're right, Captain." He clasped his hands and placed them on the table, regarding them thoughtfully as he continued. "I was with the team that rescued Shadow and Dishon from the Cardassians. They were two of the five members of a Maquis cell gathering information about Cardassian prison camps. They were caught by the Cardassian security team at a base camp on Huldon III and were being held 'for questioning'. The Maquis knew they'd been captured and we went after them as soon as we could." Chakotay stopped pacing to watch the stars spinning by outside the viewport.

"They were tortured?" Janeway prompted, her throat tight. She'd been a prisoner of the Cardassians herself for a short time. She didn't think about it if she could avoid it.

"When we broke into the station, three of the Maquis were dead---beaten to death." The First Officer paused as if choosing his words carefully. "Every Cardassian in the building was also dead---five of them. They'd been---slaughtered---practically dismembered. We found Shadow and Dishon together in an unlocked cell. Dishon was barely conscious and had six fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken arm. He was holding a Cardassian weapon. Shadow was in even worse shape. She had a concussion, bruises, and several deep stab wounds and cuts. She'd been---raped, probably more than once---judging by the physical trauma." 

Janeway could tell from his expression that he was seeing the whole brutal incident clearly in his mind. She went to stand beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "How awful."

Chakotay shook his head. "When we got them back to our medical facilities, Malista was dying, but Dishon wouldn't let her go. He stayed right next to her bed, talking to her the whole time she was in a coma. He didn't leave her till she was on her feet. It was worse than you can know, captain." Chakotay's eyes met hers. "Malista's people are from a Greek background." At the incomprehension in the captain's eyes, he elaborated, "The Greek people put a high premium on---purity---on virginity. She was only nineteen. Malista had never---"

"Surely her family---" she protested.

"When she contacted her family---no one knows what was said, but evidently they disowned her. Shadow is not her family name. It was her Maquis code name. She appropriated it so she'd have two names and Dishon became her family. He's still taking care of her. I guess their experience created a bond between them." 

Janeway shuddered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "It gives me chills to think about it! Did she ever get any counseling to help her deal with the trauma?"

"Not that I know of. Dishon and she formed a solid unit and refused to talk to anyone else. We never found out what happened---who killed the Cardassians---how they escaped their cell---any of it. They each claimed they didn't remember. The Maquis didn't pursue it."

"Do you think she can function as a normal member of our crew?"

Chakotay considered his words before answering. "What's normal? If we can make her see the value of interacting socially with the others, she'll make friends and find a place for herself. She'll never be as outgoing as Tom Paris---thank God!"

Janeway knew he was using humor to help him regain his emotional balance. "True. One Tom Paris is all any ship should have to deal with. We need to find something useful for him to do. The doctor was complaining about the new holodeck program he created. He calls it para-skiing. Something about jumping off the side of a mountain with a sail and a snowboard. And, of course, he turned off the safeties! The doctor treated fourteen injuries the first hour!"

*********************

It had been going on for three days---the watching and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On a ship the size of Voyager, it was hard to keep anything a secret---or even private. There just wasn't anywhere to get away from other people. Torres and Paris were trying to act as professional as possible and give no indication that anything had changed. 

Paris was doing a better job of it than Torres. He was accustomed to hiding his feelings behind a mask of cool indifference. He'd learned that long before he'd ever wound up in the Rehabilitation Colony---prison, to call a spade a spade. Any remark made by Torres that wasn't strictly job-related, he pretended not to hear. 

Those who'd never been allowed to see beyond the mask didn't perceive much of a difference in his behavior. He was the same polite, friendly, smart-mouthed joker who had first come aboard Voyager. The few who knew him well---Harry Kim, Kes, Neelix, and ironically, Torres---couldn't help noticing that his smile never reached his eyes. 

While his conversation was a typical smooth patter, it had no substance. He had created a distance between himself and everyone else. No one was allowed to get close, physically or verbally. He wouldn't allow the conversation to wander from surface topics or professional exchanges. He continued to rule Sandrine's as a substitute host, making sure everyone was comfortable and had someone to talk to. It was as if he was the host of a large party, dedicated to making sure all the guests enjoyed themselves, but not taking the time to enjoy the party himself.

Torres, on the other hand, was not as adept at pretending. The entire Engineering staff had been walking on tiptoe to avoid attracting her attention. Her short fuse was even shorter than usual, though to her credit, she was just as quick with an apology---if not with an explanation. 

For the most part, she had abandoned Sandrine's as a hangout---afraid of running into Paris. She seemed to be spending her spare time in her quarters going over technical manuals or in Engineering trying to tweak 98% efficiency to 100% through sheer willpower and the sweat of her entire crew. 

Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay had become aware of the existing tension at the first staff meeting that followed the breakup. Never had two people been more obviously acting as if there was no problem. The two of them had always been friendly, but now they were pattern cards of correct Starfleet etiquette. They were so polite and attentive to each other in a professional way---it bordered on being insulting. 

Janeway had discouraged Chakotay from interfering, pointing out in a reasonable tone that it would be difficult to find a way to tell them they were behaving too politely. 

So the whole ship watched each of them---separately and together---and waited for something to happen. Paris and Torres might try to avoid each other, but there were places where they would inevitably meet. One of them was the mess hall. 

Torres was having dinner with Chakotay at a table in the corner, trying to pretend Paris was not sitting at a table twenty feet across the room. He had been sitting with Kes and Neelix and had just finished his meal and taken the dishes back to the bin. As he prepared to leave he passed by the table where Crewman Russell, the ship's librarian, was standing and gathering up several datapadds and books. Just as Paris walked past, Russell fumbled and some of her things tumbled to the floor right in his path. 

Russell looked mortified at becoming the center of attention in the mess hall and quickly knelt to pick up the materials. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'll get this out of your way---"

Paris knelt and helped her gather her belongings. "That's all right. Let me help you." As they both stood with hands full, Paris glanced at her table. "This is an armload. You don't have something to carry these in?"

Still flustered at her clumsiness, Russell shook her head. "That's all right, sir. I can manage." She tried to take the materials from him, but started to lose her grip on the things she held and had to stop to rebalance them.

"Where are you going with these, Diane?" Paris smiled at her kindly, trying to put her at ease. He knew she was one of the shyest people on Voyager. "I have some time to kill. I'll help you carry them."

"Oh. I was taking them to the library," Russell replied. "Are you sure you don't mind, Lieutenant?" She was trying to recover from the shocking idea that Lt. Tom Paris actually knew her name and was smiling---at her. She was having trouble breathing steadily.

"Of course not," Tom answered. "I've been meaning to check out the library." She looked at him blankly as they started toward the door. "That was a joke," he added helpfully. 

She smiled up at him in a delayed reaction. "I got it. It's just that------"

Tom sighed and finished the sentence. "It wasn't a good joke. Some days are like that." He made a clownish face of exaggerated disappointment that startled her into a laugh just as the door slid closed. 

Torres clenched her jaw and stabbed fiercely at her plate with her fork. 

"B'Elanna?" Chakotay said, raising his voice louder than his normal tones. 

Torres jumped. She had forgotten he was sitting there. "What?" 

Chakotay frowned at her. "I said your name three times."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "My mind was wandering."

Chakotay glanced toward the doorway. "Can I guess where it wandered?"

Torres met his eyes angrily. "No. I don't want to talk about it."

"About what?" Chakotay said mildly. He was using that damned quiet voice that provoked her so much. "About what happened three days ago, or about what just happened?" Janeway had said he shouldn't play peacemaker, and he had refrained from asking questions, but B'Elanna was his protégée and she seemed upset. He couldn't ignore that. She didn't talk to other people. He could refrain from giving unsolicited advice, but she might need to talk to him .

"Either. Neither."

Chakotay just studied her and out waited her. 

"Well, you can understand why I don't want to get involved with him, can't you? You even warned me!" she burst out defensively. "I mean---look what just happened!"

"What just happened?" Chakotay was so composed. It made Torres crazy when he was so unruffled when she felt so---agitated! And now he was being obtuse!

"You saw it," she snapped accusingly. 

"Our perceptions may differ. Tell me what you saw."

B'Elanna was exasperated, but she could no more keep silent than she could fly. "I saw Tom Paris flirting with someone else---another conquest!"

"Flirting?" Chakotay inquired. "Conquest?" He raised an eyebrow. 

Torres looked uncomfortable as he reflected her words back to her. "Maybe conquest is an exaggeration," she grumbled. "But he was flirting."

"If you say so," said Chakotay in a neutral tone and picked up his fork.

"What is that supposed to mean?" B'Elanna was just spoiling for a fight and there was no one safer for her to fight with than Chakotay. 

Chakotay didn't answer. He just chewed his food, swallowed, and took a sip of his drink. He watched her as she thought furiously, trying to work out what he was getting at.

She finally gave in. "All right. I told you what I saw. What did you see?"

"I saw a crewman have an accident. Lt. Paris helped her and tried to make her feel less embarrassed." Chakotay waited for her reaction. He didn't have to wait long.

"You're joking!" Torres accused. "You can't really think that's all that happened!"

The First Officer shrugged. "You asked what I saw. That's what I saw."

"You don't think he was flirting? With all that smiling and making jokes? And calling her Diane?" Torres rapped out, showing her total exasperation at Chakotay's lack of discernment.

"Her name is Diane. What should he have called her?" Chakotay asked logically and infuriatingly.

"You know what I mean. He knows the name of every woman---every attractive woman on the ship!" Her tone seemed to imply that was a crime to be despised. "And she was looking all starry-eyed at him!"

"He probably knows the names of every crewmember period. It is a small crew. And he has a very good memory. Put that together with his sociable nature, and I would say it was natural he should know people's names. He's probably invited ninety percent of them to join him in a game of pool at Sandrine's. And B'Elanna, he can hardly be held responsible for the way others look at him."

"So you're trying to say he wasn't flirting? If that 'accident' had happened to you---or anyone else, Paris would have done exactly the same thing?" Her disbelief came across clearly.

Chakotay nodded. "Mr. Paris has good manners. Remember, he was raised most of his life on or near Starfleet Bases. Good manners are not an option. I think he would have helped anyone---male, female---attractive or not. It's a habit with him. How often has he helped you? And if that person seemed embarrassed, he would make an effort to make him or her more comfortable using his favorite tool which seems to be humor." The first officer couldn't believe he found himself in the position of defending the pilot.

When Chakotay said it, it sounded so reasonable---and so like the Tom she had come to know---B'Elanna began to wonder if she was overreacting. She wasn't ready to concede totally yet, but her sense of fairness had her saying, "Maybe. You may be right." 

"B'Elanna, what you may want to consider is how strongly you reacted."

"What?"

Chakotay shrugged again as he started gathering his dishes. "Well, I understand that you want to step back from the relationship---or possible relationship with Paris."

She nodded slowly.

"In that case, I think you should consider why you are so filled with jealousy. Or are you using jealousy as an excuse---to avoid involvement?" Chakotay stood.

"I don't know if I can trust him!" The words were torn from her. 

"Sorry. I can't help you with that. I don't know either." Chakotay felt sorry for her confusion, but he didn't have any answers or guarantees for her. "But it would be a shame to throw something valuable away, then regret it later. Especially if the reason for doing it was fear." 

B'Elanna couldn't think of anything to say.

*********************

Crewman Malista Shadow opted to remain assigned to the Maintenance detail. Her secondary posting in case of emergency was to Security. She was now assigned to work only the Gamma shift, the third duty shift. This meant that she was sleeping during the Alpha shift and had leisure time during the Beta shift. The Beta shift was the time period most of the socialization aboard the ship took place. 

Having been given no choice by both the Commander and Captain Janeway, for exactly three hours each evening Crewman Shadow made appearances in the mess hall and holodecks. Silent appearances. 

She was sitting alone at Sandrine's nursing a drink along. It didn't normally take three hours to finish one syntheholic beer, but it gave her something to do while putting in her time. She was required to socialize as per the captain's 'suggestion' so she was here. Crewman Dishon had been with her when she first came in, but he'd moved to another table to begin a flirtation with Jenny Delaney. Shadow didn't seem to be aware of the others in the room.

Paris noticed. He was tired of his own company. Curiosity got the better of him. As he studied his next pool shot, he made a point of stopping next to her table. He turned to her. "What do you think?" He gestured at the table. 

She considered the placement of the balls on the table. Without expression, she shrugged. She took another sip of her beer. 

"Do you play?" Paris inquired.

She shook her head and stared at him wordlessly. 

A lesser man would have been discouraged. Tom tried a charming smile. "Would you like to learn?"

"Leave her alone!" Dishon was back and suddenly standing between Paris and Shadow, defying his superior officer. He looked ready to start something if Paris didn't back off. 

"Just being friendly," he offered mildly. Paris was almost a foot taller than Dishon. He peered over the stocky crewman's shoulder and sought a response from Shadow. 

"Back off!" Dishon growled, and pushed both hands against Paris' chest.

Paris was getting a little annoyed as he returned his attention to the man. "Dishon, stay out of this. I didn't hear her scream for help."

Dishon suddenly paled. "What?"

"It's okay," Shadow said, her deep, husky voice sounded rusty from disuse. She was standing now and put a hand on Dishon's shoulder. She was almost Paris' height, towering over the shorter man. 

Dishon spun to look up into her green eyes. What he saw there evidently satisfied him. Without a glance at Paris, he muttered, "Sorry, Lieutenant." He pushed past the pilot and returned to the other table to rejoin Megan and Jenny Delaney and a friend.

Paris and Shadow studied each other for a silent moment. "So," Paris joked, "what are you? His sister?"

"His albatross," she said bitterly.

Paris recognized the reference to the Ancient Mariner and tilted his head. "Really? And is he your albatross?"

Her eyes widened as if that thought had never occurred to her. She didn't respond. She seemed to be thinking it over. 

Paris smiled again at Shadow. "You didn't answer my question. Do you want to learn to play pool?"

His smile faded as she said, "No, thanks." She reseated herself and went back to her beer, her expression unsmiling. 

"If you change your mind?" Paris offered, leaving it open. 

She nodded slowly. 

Thomas Paris needed some activity for his mind and she presented an enigma. He decided to figure her out. But there was no rush. He went back to his game as he pondered the approach he wanted to take. He had nothing better to do in his off hours. Besides, there was something about that look in her eyes---it looked familiar. He just couldn't quite place it. He knew he didn't like it. It worried him somehow.

**************

Ethan Simms was in the turbolift when Tom got in and asked for the Bridge. Tom looked at him with a polite smile and nodded.

"Lieutenant?" Simms seemed uncomfortable. 

"Yes?" 

"I want to apologize," the ensign blurted. "I don't know if you've heard, but I finally told Janine Lamont I was the one sending her the anonymous love letters."

Paris smiled blankly. "That's nice, but what---"

"I got a little upset when I saw you with her and---"

Paris waved the rest away. He'd almost forgotten that Simms had been there. "Don't worry about it. I understand. You're in love. I hope I don't have to tell you that Lamont's not interested in me. All I am is her flight instructor."

The turbolift stopped at the Security level. "Oh, I know, Lieutenant," Simms said, blushing to the roots of his dark red hair. "She told me you were just being kind. I'm the man she wants. Janine made that very clear---last night." He exited with a smile on his face, his green eyes sparkling. 

Paris smiled for a moment, sharing Ethan's good fortune. The smile dropped away as he remembered B'Elanna's reaction to the same incident.

**************

B'Elanna Torres was not in a good mood. She hadn't been for weeks now. In fact the Engineering staff could pinpoint to the day when she'd gone from merely cranky to downright unbearable. It was the day she'd told Tom Paris she didn't want to see so much of him---that they should back off the relationship. The only thing worse than a Klingon having a tantrum, was a Klingon feeling guilty and depressed. Torres had thrown herself into her work, both literally and figuratively and dragged her reluctant crew in after her.

Torres hadn't been able to forget how Tom had ignored her when she'd teased him on the bridge. She'd spoken without thinking---something she was beginning to think she did far too often. It had slipped her mind momentarily that they weren't---friends any more. 

Paris had made that more than clear. He was careful to treat her with professional courtesy. There was never a word or a look that could offend her or give her reason to think that he cared for her. He had distanced himself from her. Ironically, the more he did so, the more she felt an intense need to know what he was doing and who he was doing it with. She told herself if was friendly curiosity. He acted as if they were strangers. It was infuriating! Yet---she couldn't ignore him or forget him.

Even worse from her point of view, her friendship with Harry Kim had been affected. Though the ensign had been careful not to take sides, the three of them didn't do things together any more. He was left to balance his spare time between his two friends. It was awkward for him to censor his conversation to keep from mentioning Paris to Torres and vice-versa. So Harry was avoiding both of them by throwing himself into his music and practicing for concerts with Susan Nicoletti among others.

Torres had never realized how much time the three of them spent together until they suddenly weren't. The trio had become something of a habit while working together on the Warp 10 project. The three of them had bounced ideas off each other, made plans, and humorously fantasized about the results of their leap into the record books. It had been fun. She'd learned a new respect for Tom Paris as a pilot and as an intelligent man. When he'd died---almost died---she didn't want to think about it.

"Carey!" she bellowed, as if there were no communications system available. "Where are those efficiency ratings for the conversion chambers?" 

**************

Tom had lost interest in the Delaney sisters and stopped pursuing them. When his friendship with Torres abruptly ended, Megan suddenly decided she was interested in him again. She asked him to teach her to play pool. In the guise of teaching the proper grip, she provided Tom with a perfect excuse to put his arms around her. 

For an intelligent woman, she was a slow learner. He'd had to demonstrate the proper grip and motions several times. For some reason of her own, Megan kept leaning against him as he explained the theory of the game. Tom wondered who Megan was trying to make jealous, but he didn't really care who her target was. Since B'Elanna Torres was seated near the bar with Carey and Nicoletti, Paris was motivated to pretend an interest in Megan's flirtatious behavior for his own reasons.

Flirtatious repartee was second nature to him. It didn't require all his attention. With Megan, it was just a game. She didn't want to be taken seriously---at least not by him. He'd found that out on their one double date with Harry and Jenny. 

Paris suddenly caught a glimpse of Malista Shadow sitting at the isolated table in the corner. Again she was nursing a beer along as if trying to set an endurance record, but this time she was working on something. She held two long needles wrapped in some kind of material. Tom thought it looked familiar but couldn't place it. He noticed Malista seemed to be actually paying attention to Tom and Megan's performance. As he came around to her side of the pool table, Tom said hello. She nodded in acknowledgment.

The next time he got near, he leaned on the table in front of her and put his face about two feet from her own. He didn't want there to be any chance she could ignore him. "By the way, your name is Malista Shadow? My name is Tom Paris."

She looked up from her needlework and for the first time a glint of something that might have been humor showed in her emerald eyes. "Scaramouche," she accused. 

Tom was caught off guard for a split second, then a grin popped into place as he recognized the reference. He shook his head with mock disapproval. "No, no! Malista, I'm a much more colorful personality than that! Harlequin!" He made a flamboyant bow in her direction, sweeping an imaginary hat off his head.

The barest hint of a smile twitched at her mouth. She sipped her beer to conceal it.

"What? What are you talking about, Tommy?" Megan's cooing voice suddenly seemed an intrusion. 

Good manners required that he turn his attention back to her. "Harlequin---he's a character---" At her blank and disinterested look, Paris gave up. "Never mind. Let's see about that eight ball." He glanced back over his shoulder. Each time he came near Malista's table, he made a comment or remark to include her in the holodeck activities. If she answered, it was with no more than one or two words.

"Is that knitting?" Paris asked, finally recognizing the needles from an old picture in a favorite book. Malista nodded. "Oh! Madame Defarge, I presume?"

Malista leaned forward, clicking her needles, and muttered in an old crone's cackle. "Guillotine!"

Paris burst out laughing, drawing the attention of everyone at Sandrine's, especially B'Elanna Torres.

Shadow sat back, sipped her beer, and went on knitting. 

"What's so funny?" Megan Delaney demanded, pouting. She hated not being in on the joke. 

Tom was tiring of Megan's company, but was too much of a gentleman to brush her off. "It's a Dickens character."

"Dickens?" Megan thought about it. "Oh, yeah. I remember Dickens. Isn't that the guy that says 'Bah! Humbug!'?"

Tom could almost feel his eyes glazing over as he tried to think of a kind answer to that comment. Why didn't everyone read the classics? He glanced over his shoulder to share his dismay with the evidently well-read Shadow, but Malista had vanished. He hadn't seen her leave. His blue eyes met B'Elanna's brown ones on the other side of the room. She was glaring at him. 

Well, what was new about that? He returned his attention to Megan with renewed enthusiasm. "Let me show you again how to hold the cue." He wrapped his arms around Megan and she snuggled against him. 

Funny. It didn't make him feel warm.

****************

B'Elanna's eyes were drawn to Paris when he suddenly laughed. She hadn't heard that sound in some time. Usually Paris just smiled if something was amusing. She wondered what Malista Shadow could have said to provoke such a reaction. She met his eyes, until catching herself staring at him, she returned her attention to Lieutenant Carey. "Something's different here," she said. "There's something different about Sandrine's. I can't put my finger on it."

Carey and Nicoletti exchanged a knowing look.

"What?" Torres snapped. 

Susan pointed toward the end of the bar. "The piano hasn't always been there. It was added about a year ago. Is that what you mean?" she asked a little too innocently.

Her chief glared at her. "No. I mean there's something missing. Isn't there?"

Carey took a sip of his drink. "Maybe you're missing Rickie."

Rickie? The holocharacter Paris had created to fawn over him? Torres looked around the room again. It was true. The other characters were there---that pig Gaunt Gary, the gigolo, Sandrine---but no Rickie. He'd told Harry he always had Rickie in all his programs. 

"What happened to her?" she asked.

"Paris deleted her character about two months ago," Carey said casually.

Two months. That was about the time Paris had begun to flirt with her, ask her out. "Did he say why?" B'Elanna had to ask.

Susan smiled at her patiently. "I asked him that. He said you didn't like her. So he got rid of her. Took you a while to notice, huh?"

Torres growled. She stormed out of the bar.

"Well, Joe?" Nicoletti said.

"This could be very entertaining," Carey said. "What were the odds as of today?"

****************

Tom had just finished dinner. Harry and he were in agreement. It had been one of Neelix's better efforts. They were discussing Tom's para-skiing program when Torres flounced in and plopped down in the chair across from his without waiting for an invitation. She'd been gearing up for this confrontation all day. She got right to the point. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No, why? Have you found one lying around?" Tom couldn't resist a straight line. Teasing Torres was always tempting and never more so than when she was already on a tear. Besides, smart remarks were what she and everyone else seemed to want from him.

Harry admired his calm but wondered if Tom had no sense of fear. B'Elanna looked like she was in a full blown Klingon snit. A wise man would run for cover. Harry was considering it himself. 

Torres took control of her temper with a visible effort. "What do you think you're doing with Malista Shadow?"

Tom's face went blank, showing no sign of his usual humor. "I'm being friendly. What did you think I was doing?" he challenged.

Torres seemed to be stumped. It obviously wasn't the answer or the tone she'd expected. "I don't know. Don't play games with her, Tom! She may not look it, but she's fragile," she warned.

Quite calmly and coolly, Paris got to his feet. "You're mistaken, Lieutenant. I'm not the one who wanted to play games. I wanted a relationship---one with a future," he said with a tinge of bitterness. "See you later, Harry." He strolled from the room without a backward glance.

B'Elanna stared at Harry. "Does he know what he's doing?"

Harry was disappointed in her. "B'Elanna, do you really think Tom would deliberately hurt someone? That he'd---I guess you do. I think you were out of line."

"I was out of line?" Torres exclaimed incredulously.

"You gave up any right to interfere in Tom's private life, B'Elanna, when you told him you weren't interested in a relationship with him," Kim remarked, trying not to let his opinion of that decision color his words. 

"I didn't say---never. I said I wanted more time," she insisted. "He took it the wrong way."

Kim's expression conveyed his disbelief. "C'mon! How would you have taken it? What if Tom had been the one to say he wanted more time to consider the relationship?" He didn't give her time to answer. "You'd have gone ballistic. And written him off. Do you really think he's going to try again with you? How many times would you risk rejection? You hurt him---badly."

"I didn't mean to," B'Elanna said in a small voice. "I was trying to protect myself."

"Well, you did that," Kim said. He shook his head. He didn't know what else to say. Those two would have to work it out. He'd probably said too much already. Tom would be furious if he knew Harry discussed him with B'Elanna. He couldn't help being a little angry that she had hurt Tom, but he didn't want to lose her friendship either. "As for Malista---trust Tom. He knows what it's like to be hurt. That's probably why he's taking an interest in her. To help her. I don't know if you've noticed, but he does that a lot. He probably should apply for posting as Ship's Counselor. See you later."

Torres jumped to her feet and charged back down to Engineering. There had to be something else that needed fine-tuning. Her temper and quick mouth had made a mess of her life once more. She didn't know what her next move should be. Maybe she should just do nothing. At least she couldn't cause any more hurt to herself or others by doing nothing. Malista had the right idea---non-involvement.

********************

Torres wasn't the only one watching Paris and Shadow. They were the main item of discussion among the ship gossips during the daily routine. Speculation concerning Paris and Torres lost its impetus. The new teaming of Paris with Shadow gave rise to a betting pool, carefully hidden from the parties involved as well as from Lieutenant Torres. 

The main bets concerned when and if Paris would score with Shadow. Side bets were also set up. Two different ones were placed on how long it would take Torres to go after Paris. For reconciliation? Or mayhem? Or would she go after Shadow? That one didn't receive much action, but did provoke some heated discussions---especially in the Engineering section, where it originated.

After leaving Harry and B'Elanna in the mess hall, Tom was on his way to the holodecks when he met Malista Shadow in the corridor. "Hello. On your way to Sandrine's for more riotous living?" He smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. He was paler than normal, dark circles were beginning to appear under his eyes as stress, unhappiness, and insomnia caught up with him. One of the curses of fair skin. Everyone could tell when you weren't getting enough sleep.

She noticed. She tilted her head as she studied him. "Not necessarily."

"Holodeck one is free. Would you like to join me for an evening on Lake Como?" he suggested tentatively. He made a sweeping bow as he had at Sandrine's when claiming to be Harlequin.

Malista surprised him by curtsying as she replied, "Why not?"

Paris gave the command to begin the program and they entered. It was a beautiful setting. The lake was huge with boats of every size sailing across it in the distance. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of grass between flower beds that colored the landscape like a rainbow. The sky was a light purple, flecked with gold and orange rays as the sun had begun to set. The air was warm, scented with flowers, and stirred as if a slight breeze were passing by. A hundred yards away a small band in a gazebo could be heard playing soft music. A large plaid blanket was spread on the grass near the lake's edge at the best possible vantage point for viewing the sunset. 

He let her seat herself on the blanket. He'd noticed by observation that she didn't seem to like to be touched, so he didn't offer a hand. He sprawled on the blanket three feet away, close enough to talk, but not close enough to invade her personal space. He propped his elbow on the ground, resting his head in his hand.

Malista seemed to be drinking in the atmosphere. She clasped her arms around her upraised knees. "Good job, Lieutenant."

"Hey! That was three words!" Paris teased indignantly.

"Occasionally," she said solemnly, "I'm allowed to say more than two."

"But not in public?" he asked quizzically.

She sighed. "It just encourages people to talk to you."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"It can be." Silence fell between them as they listened to the music and watched the colors of the sky changing. It was peaceful. Neither felt a need to fill the silence with conversation. After about fifteen minutes, Shadow's curiosity got the better of her. "Isn't this sunset taking a long time?"

"You caught me. I like sunsets. So I programmed the computer to attenuate the time. So how are you doing? Have you adjusted to working just one shift?" Paris thought he'd introduced a perfectly good conversational gambit. 

She didn't play along. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

She sent him a sidelong glance. "Why you asked me to join you. The reason you're here instead of Sandrine's. The problem with Torres. Caldik Prime."

"So you heard about that?"

"Small ship."

"Do you want to talk about Huldon III?" Tom asked, eyebrows up.

"No. So you heard about that?"

"Just after I joined the Maquis---and before I was given my first assignment and subsequently arrested. I'm sorry."

Malista shrugged. "Pick a topic."

"How about none of the above?" Tom quipped.

"No problem." She turned her face back up to the sky. "And you don't have to entertain me."

"That's a nice change---for me. To be honest," Paris said quietly, "it was an impulse---asking you, I mean. I thought you might enjoy it. It's restful here. No ulterior motive. I promise." 

"I know."

"You know what?"

"I know you don't have designs on my body," Malista replied emotionlessly. 

"How do you know?" 

"Well, do you?" She looked at him, impatient with his slowness of wit.

"No, but how did *you* know? I thought it was taken for granted by everyone on board that sex is the only thing other than piloting that I'm interested in," Paris said scornfully.

She raised her eyebrows. "Only someone who doesn't know you would think that. Is that what the fight was about?"

"What fight?"

"The one between you and Torres."

Paris looked uncomfortable. "There wasn't a fight."

"Okay." They sat in silence for a while.

Tom felt a need to talk. Harry was too close to the situation. His other friend, B'Elanna---he couldn't talk to her. She *was* the problem. There was no one else he could talk to so he'd bottled everything up inside. The pressure was beginning to tell on him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have another woman's opinion. "Malista?"

"Yes?"

"Tom. My name is Tom," he corrected. One of the things that made him crazy was that Torres almost always called him Paris, which wasn't his favorite name. It reminded him of his father---and other things he didn't want to think about. 

"Yes, Tom?" 

"There wasn't really a fight---"

As they talked, they made themselves comfortable, stretching out on the blanket, side by side facing each other. The conversation went on for hours jumping from one subject to another, covering a great deal of ground. Some of it was surprisingly common ground. At some point in their twilight discussion, they fell asleep. 

The sun had completely set and the boats on the lake were carrying lights when Tom suddenly awoke. He couldn't believe he'd drowsed off in the peaceful quiet of the holodeck. As he sat up, he looked at Malista. She was still asleep. 'Real exciting date, Tom,' he thought. "Computer, what's ship's time?"

"The time is 2300."

The sound of the computer's voice awakened Malista. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "What happened? Oh, did we fall asleep?"

"Yeah. I must be tireder than I thought. I'm sorry, Malista."

"It's not your fault, Tom. I haven't been sleeping well lately either. It must have caught up with me. I have to go get ready for my shift." She got to her feet and they started toward the exit.

"I'll walk you to your quarters," Tom offered.

"That's not necessary."

"Computer, end program. Don't be silly. A gentleman always sees a lady home. By the way, I've been meaning to ask, what does Malista mean?"

"In Greek it means 'yes, indeed'."

Tom sniggered. "I bet that got you in trouble at school."

"Behave."

*******************

 

No matter how discreet the behavior, the ship's grapevine usually had the news within twenty-four hours. The fact that Shadow and Paris had spent six hours alone in Holodeck One made the rounds much more quickly. Though no one knew for sure what had gone on, there was a great deal of speculation which provided an outlet for the imagination. This situation was getting better than a holonovel.

****************

Chakotay couldn't ignore what was happening. He felt a certain degree of obligation as First Officer to address personnel problems when he became aware of them. That was what he told himself when he found Malista Shadow in the mess hall during her lunch break. She was, of course, sitting alone, her back to the wall farthest from the entrance. Chakotay got a tray and approached. "Malista, may I join you?"

She nodded, eyeing him speculatively. She waited till he'd seated himself and taken his first bite before she spoke. "Something wrong?" It was almost as if she had been expecting him.

"That's what I was going to ask you," the first officer commented. "I wanted to see how you're adjusting---" 

Shadow made a sound that was a cross between a sniff and a lady-like snort. 

Chakotay raised his eyebrows at her. "You don't believe me?"

The corners of her mouth barely turned up. "Come on. I'm not stupid. I know you're worried about me. I'm not Lon Suder. Let me assure you, I don't plan to go nuts and start killing crewmen." It was the longest speech Chakotay had ever heard from her.

"I didn't think you would." Chakotay paused for a moment to reconsider what he wanted to say. "Let's just say, I'm concerned that you still haven't made many friends."

"How many friends do I need?" She gazed at him impassively and tiredly. "You're worried about Tom Paris," she accused.

Chakotay hadn't been prepared for this kind of bluntness. He should have known. She was a direct person---when she spoke at all. "Yes," he admitted. "Do I need to be?"

"No." Malista seemed to feel the one word answer was sufficient.

He didn't. "Why not?" 

Malista shook her head. "I don't think you'd understand, Commander."

"Why not?" Chakotay repeated.

"You don't understand Tom. You underestimate him. Why would you understand our friendship?"

"Try me." 

"No." It was a flat refusal. She got to her feet, took her tray back to the kitchen, and exited without a backward glance.

Chakotay frowned. If she wouldn't talk---well, there was someone else involved. Maybe Paris would tell him what was going on. Maybe.

***************

The ship's gossips were having a field day with the story of Paris and Shadow staying in the holodeck alone for six hours. At least six variations were being circulated, some wilder than others. If the truth had been known, it wouldn't have been believed. It just didn't make a very good story if all Paris and Shadow had done was talk. 

It was bad enough that there were witnesses to attest that Paris had not entered Shadow's quarters or collected a parting kiss. The side bets concerning Lieutenant Torres' reaction suddenly drew more interest. Especially when the gossips learned that Torres visited Shadow in her quarters.

Torres knew Malista from serving with her in the Maquis. She had never had much to do with her since Shadow and Dishon were a duo that didn't interact much with the others on the ship. Apart from a professional association, she had never spoken more than a few sentences to her. B'Elanna had heard the rumor about Shadow's date with Paris on the holodeck. That was what made her to decide to talk to Malista herself. Not that she knew what she wanted to say. 

The hallway was deserted as Torres hit the door signal of Shadow's quarters. The signal to enter came. She stepped through the doors. Malista was sitting cross-legged on the couch, her knitting creating some kind of pink material. "Am I interrupting?" Torres asked politely.

Amusement flashed through Malista's eyes. "Lieutenant Torres, I suppose I should have expected to see you. Come in. Have a seat."

Having seated herself, B'Elanna found herself uneasily aware that she didn't know what to say about Tom without sounding like a jealous fool. So she stalled. "What are you making?"

Malista held up the material so she could see it better. "A baby blanket for Kim Wildman. Samantha said she needed another."

"That's nice of you." Torres cast her eyes around the room searching for another topic. The room was quiet for what seemed like minutes. The silence was not a comfortable one---at least on Torres' part. 

Shadow kept knitting. 

Torres watched her.

"Did you want something in particular, Lieutenant?" Malista finally asked. Green eyes met brown eyes.

"Yes. I wanted to tell you---Argh! This is ridiculous!" Torres jumped to her feet. She could never express herself without moving around. She slapped her forehead ridges, angry at herself. "Why am I here?"

Shadow answered the rhetorical question coolly. "Because you're an idiot."

"What?!" Torres spun, her fury now had a new target. 

The other woman's impassivity was unshakable. "You just may be a bigger idiot than he is. But I'm not sure yet."

"He?" B'Elanna attempted to pretend she didn't know exactly who Shadow meant. "Do you mean Paris?"

"Tom. His name is Tom," Shadow specified. She eyed the chief engineer speculatively. "Why are you here? Did you come to warn me that Tom has nefarious intentions to seduce and abandon me?"

"I figure you probably know that already---from firsthand experience," Torres accused. 

Malista blinked slowly at her, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Really?" 

Torres heard the shrewishness of her own voice and wished she could call the words back. This wasn't what it was about. She wasn't jealous. She couldn't be. She was concerned that Paris would take advantage of Shadow. Or that Shadow might take advantage of Paris. He was hurt and on the rebound. That made him vulnerable. It was concern that motivated her. Concern for a friend. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that!"

"No offense taken." Shadow shook her head. "B'Elanna, you're operating under a false assumption. Tom is my friend---that's all he wants to be."

"That's what he says!" Torres accused.

"No. That's what he needs. He's lonely."

"Lonely? Tom Paris? Ha!" Torres snorted. "He's always surrounded by people---mostly women---flirting, joking, and partying!" She flopped down into the chair again, flinging one leg over the arm. She was ready and ripe for a rip-roaring argument, having made a list of all Paris' faults to reinforce her rationale for not getting involved with him. 

Malista didn't play fair. No matter how excited or loud Torres got, Shadow stayed detached and cool. "Have you ever heard of being lonely in a crowd?"

That gave B'Elanna pause. She'd experienced that herself. "But he's very popular!"

"Who does he spend most of his time with? Until lately it was you and Harry. Then you said you didn't want to see him. So he was left with Harry---except Harry's trying to stay neutral and divide his spare time between you, Tom, and his music. Kes is busy in Sickbay. Neelix is tied to the mess hall. So he's on his own---or at Sandrine's."

Torres wasn't ready to give in yet. "He's made lots of friends."

"Friendly acquaintances. Real friends are harder to come by. How many friends do you have? Close friends? I have two now. Tom is one of them." Malista put her knitting aside and gave all her attention to Torres. 

"You've forgotten---some people have long memories. They won't let him live down his past. It takes a special kind of courage to go on trying when so many would like to see you fail. Maybe fifty of the crew are willing to be friendly with Tom Paris. The rest of them---Maquis and Starfleet---are either indifferent or actively resent and dislike him. Most of them don't show it overtly. They just talk about him behind his back. Those who are open about it only take their little digs at Tom when no one else can hear them. And Tom never reports them for insubordination."

"Why not?"

"He's given up on changing their minds. He's tired of trying to prove himself to others---even the ones he doesn't care about. The ones who won't take him seriously."

"He's always joking. He doesn't take anything seriously. How could I---you---any woman expect him to take me---her seriously?" Torres was so caught up in her dilemma, she'd forgotten who she was talking to and why she had come.

"Lieutenant, Tom and I are a lot alike. Life has bruised us, beaten us up, and damned near killed us. People who were supposed to love and support us---didn't." Malista spoke earnestly, convincingly. "We coped differently. I stayed sane by withdrawing. He stayed sane by pretending it didn't matter. That he could make it on his own. But being alone isn't really his style. He jokes to keep people at a distance---the same reason he flirts. It lets him stay in control. It lets him walk away when he can't handle the way people treat him. And above all, it lets him keep his pride. If he pretends it doesn't hurt, the person who hurts him doesn't get the satisfaction of knowing he succeeded. Did you know Tom plays the piano?" 

She didn't pause for an answer. "No, I'm sure you didn't. He hasn't told anyone because he can't read music. He taught himself. He plays by ear and he doesn't know the classical music that Harry enjoys. Tom doesn't want Harry to think less of him so he keeps it to himself and only plays in the holodeck after everyone else leaves."

Torres sensed the truth in her words. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes. "How do you know? Are you so close to him that he's shared his feelings and secrets with you? He never told me---"

"He's not comfortable enough to be himself in public. Were you ever alone with him? In a private place? Where other people wouldn't be listening? I was. In Holodeck One. We talked, Torres. That's all."

"He could have talked to me," B'Elanna said tentatively. "I wanted him to." 

"He's afraid---if he tells you the truth about his feelings, about his past, you might think he's a weakling or a coward," Malista said quietly. "After all, you believed the rumors about his sex life. Why wouldn't you believe the stories that branded him a coward?"

Torres was dismayed that Tom had so little trust in her friendship. "I wouldn't---he isn't a coward. He's volunteered for suicide missions, put his life at risk for me---for others, the ship---he has to know he's shown me---everyone---he's not a coward."

"Believe me, sometimes it's easier to take a chance on dying than to go on living. Especially if you don't think you matter. I'm not saying he has a death wish. But if you've been told for years that you don't matter, that you don't measure up? Believe me---being dead might seem better than living as---as damaged goods---having to live with the guilt of being the one who survived---when others didn't."

B'Elanna felt a chill run up her spine as she saw the haunted look in Shadow's eyes. She stood to leave. "I've got to get back to---I have some work to do." As she neared the door, she paused. "By the way, the reason I came by---I wanted to tell you there are bets being placed on which of us would win if we fought over Paris."

"Really?" Shadow quirked an eyebrow. "And what are the odds?"

"I didn't bother to ask. I came to tell you that as far as I'm concerned, it isn't going to happen." Torres glared up at the taller woman scornfully. "I wouldn't fight for a man who wants another woman."

"He doesn't want me, Torres," Malista repeated tiredly. "I'm no threat."

"He's never let me as close to the real Paris as you apparently got on the holodeck!" It was both an accusation and a confession. 

"He called me B'Ella." 

"What?" Torres breath suddenly caught in her throat. The simple statement froze her in her tracks as she tried to sort out the implications. It was his name for her. His private name for her---from an old Earth language. It meant beautiful.

"We were relaxing on the lake shore. He was tired from lack of sleep. We were talking for a long time. He called me B'Ella---more than once. He didn't even realize he was doing it." Malista stared down at Torres intensely. "And I don't think B'Ella sounds very much like Malista."

"No, it doesn't," B'Elanna said solemnly. The door slid open and she stepped into the corridor. "I know it's not easy for you to talk to people. Why---why did you tell me? All this?"

"I thought you should know. I didn't do it for you. I did it for him," Shadow said bluntly. "He's my friend. Just my friend. My friend, Tom---not Paris."

Torres nodded slowly, understanding. "Thank you, Malista."

"You're welcome, B'Elanna." 

******************

Chakotay was one of the first to arrive at Sandrine's that evening. Tom came in alone and Chakotay waved him over. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Tom smiled at him suspiciously. "Uh-huh. To do what do I owe this honor? Or shall I guess?"

"Sit down, Paris." Chakotay had meditated to prepare for this, but somehow Tom's manner always managed to annoy him. He reminded himself that this was professional, not personal. 

Paris slouched easily into the chair opposite Chakotay's, waving a hand at Sandrine to order his usual drink. His expression was polite but noncommittal. "You rang?" 

The commander waited till Tom had his drink in hand. "Paris, I don't want you to think I'm interfering in your personal life---"

"But you're going to interfere in my personal life," the lieutenant finished sardonically. "I think you've done enough of that." 

Chakotay stared at him. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

Paris treated him to a smirk. "Sure, Commander. Like you didn't tell B'Elanna she shouldn't have anything to do with me. I know you don't like me. Fine. You don't have to. No hard feelings---"

The first officer sighed impatiently. "Paris, come off it! I didn't have anything to do with Torres' decision. Your problems with her are of your own making. That's not what I wanted to talk about."

Tom pulled himself up straight in the chair. "Then I'm sorry, Commander, but I'm afraid you've lost me. What did you want to talk about? Or should I say whom?"

"Malista Shadow."

"Ah! I should have known. Your little protégée has already warned me off Malista. What is it? A conspiracy? To protect the women of the U.S.S. Voyager from that devil Tom Paris?" The sarcasm disturbed his mask of cool indifference. Tom raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Ooh! Mercy! What will that terrible Paris do to that poor woman?!" 

The lieutenant stood, leaning forward, he rested his hands on the table in front of Chakotay. In a conspiratorial whisper, he confided, "Actually, Commander, you got me! I'm a Bluebeard! I keep their bodies locked in a small closet behind Neelix's pantry! Excuse me. I'm off duty now. I want to play some pool." 

Chakotay watched the younger man amble across the room. 'Well,' he thought, 'that could have gone better.' His timing was off. He should never have approached Tom here at Sandrine's after a long duty shift. Maybe he could try again some other time. Or maybe not. 

******************

After his conversation with Chakotay, Paris was in a reckless mood. He didn't feel very sociable. Harry was practicing for some concert with Nicoletti. B'Elanna had given up coming to Sandrine's and she wasn't speaking to him anyway. He concentrated on the holographic characters since they were so much easier to deal with than real people. They, at least, didn't have mood swings. 

It was getting late when Malista Shadow finally made her obligatory appearance. She stopped at the bar, collected a drink, then went to her customary table. She was getting more socially adept. She nodded a greeting to each person who met her eyes. At least now she was noticing there were other people present.

Tom waited. This time she'd have to make the first move. And if she didn't? Fine. He wasn't in the mood to cheer someone else up right now. He had just picked up his fourth glass of syntheholic wine when she caught his eye. She waved him to her table. Here was progress! It was the first time he joined her at her invitation. He sat down and regarded her with a small smile. He didn't speak.

She looked back. She didn't speak. Their eyes smiled at each other. Their faces remained expressionless. It was an undeclared contest. Paris sipped his wine and made a moue of distaste. Shadow raised an eyebrow. Paris raised both eyebrows and waggled them. Shadow frowned and stuck her lower lip out at him. Paris stuck his tongue out at her. Shadow crossed her eyes. Paris crossed his eyes and blew her a kiss. She crossed her eyes, sucked in her cheeks, and made a fish mouth.

Paris felt his face began to crack in a smile. His blue eyes danced. He grinned at her. She let the corners of her mouth rise slightly. He kept grinning. Her smile broke free. She put up a hand as if to hide it. He snatched her hand and held it. She froze at his touch. "Your smile is beautiful. Let people see it," he chided gently, releasing her.

She dropped her eyes modestly. But the smile was still there.

"You know that wasn't really a fair contest. You've had a lot more practice at nonverbal communication," Tom complained with an exaggerated whine. 

She rolled her eyes. "Tough. Who promised you fair?"

Tom threw his hand over his heart and fell back in his chair dramatically. "Geez! I can die happy now! She spoke more than two words to me! And in public!"

"You idiot!"

"Oh, no! Back to two words again?" Many eyes were drawn by curiosity to the antics at the corner table. They ignored the crowd's reaction to their mischievous teasing. "Okay, let's get back to identifying the crew." 

She frowned her confusion. 

"Come on, Malista! You remember. I'm Scaramouche---?"

She shook her head. "No, Harlequin."

"That's right. I don't wear black. Now let's go down the crew list and assign each one a character," Paris suggested, his mind already racing through the literary characters he knew. "For example, Neelix?"

"Micawber."

Tom laughed. "Very good. That bubbling optimism. Who else have you got?"

Malista thought for a moment. "Tuvok?"

"How about Hephaestus?" 

"No puns!" she said sternly, her green eyes still twinkling nonetheless.

"You're tough," Paris accused. "Okay, who do you have for Tuvok?"

"Cerberus."

"The watchdog? Perfect. How about Harry? Sancho Panza?"

"Sir Galahad."

"More like Gawaine."

"The Loathely Lady?"

"That's the story I had in mind," Paris agreed. "What about Kes?"

"Demeter."

"Too obvious. What about the captain? I was thinking of Medusa."

Malista's eyebrows shot up. She thought for a moment and said, "I give up. Why?"

"She has a paralyzing effect when she gives you that certain look," Tom offered.

Malista shook her head. "I must not have seen that look. No. Not Medusa. I haven't thought of one for her yet. But I will."

Paris noticed B'Elanna's arrival. She didn't stay. She just walked in, looked around as if searching for someone and left. "How about Torres? Cressid?" he suggested, a slight bitterness in his tone.

"Columbine," Malista corrected.

Paris shook his head. "I don't think so. Moving on, what about Joe Carey?"

"Sisyphus." 

Paris burst out laughing at the mental picture that formed of Carey endlessly repairing the warp coils only to have another one blow a leak.

The others at Sandrine's watched and wondered for several hours. Snippets of the conversation overheard in passing made absolutely no sense, but the two participants seemed to understand and enjoy the repartee. Malista was actually smiling now and then. It looked like the odds in the betting were about to change. Again.

******************

After his disastrous attempt to reason with Tom Paris at Sandrine's, Chakotay returned to his quarters. He had replicated a cup of tea and was sitting down with a padd to look over some reports when his door signal sounded. "Come."

B'Elanna Torres walked in, for once not in a rush. "Chakotay, can I talk to you?"

He gestured toward the seat at a ninety degree angle to his. "Would you like some tea? Some refreshments?"

"No, I'm not hungry." She sat and fumed in silence for a few moments.

"B'Elanna?"

"What?" she snapped.

"You said you wanted to talk?" Chakotay asked mildly. "In case you haven't noticed, you aren't."

She thrust her fingers into her hair. "I don't know if this is a good idea." 

Chakotay waited. 

"In the mess hall, when we talked---you said you didn't think I should throw away a relationship because of fear."

"I remember."

"Did I do that?" Her eyes met his in a plea for reassurance.

"What do you think?"

"Don't do that!" she yelled, jumping to her feet. "If I wanted to know what I think, I could have this conversation with a mirror!"

"B'Elanna---"

"And don't tell me you can't make decisions for me! I'm not asking you to. I just want to know if you think I was wrong to break things off with Tom. Did I do it because I was scared? Because I was jealous? Do I want him now because someone else might? And if he really cared for me, would he have someone new this soon?" Torres was flinging herself up and down the length of the room as she spoke, giving him no opportunity to answer. She finally paused for breath and turned to glare at him. "Well, are you going to answer me?"

Chakotay gestured to the chair again. Torres reluctantly seated herself. "B'Elanna, if I could answer those questions for you, I would. Let me ask you a question and you say the first thing that comes into your mind---don't think about it. All right?"

Torres reluctantly nodded her agreement. She'd talked to herself till she was dizzy. Maybe this would help.

Chakotay held her hands between his own and brown eyes met brown eyes unflinchingly. "B'Elanna, do you care for Tom Paris?"

"Of course. He's my friend." Her eyes darted away from his to gaze at his wall hanging.

The first officer knew she'd evaded so he rephrased the question. "Do you love him?"

"I don't know. He's attractive. He's been good to me---supportive. He saved my life. More than once. Love him? I could---I think---maybe---in the future? When I know him better." Her uncharacteristic hesitation infuriated her. "Why can't I make a decision?"

"Not every decision has to be made right now," Chakotay chided. "B'Elanna, you made a mistake in refusing to see Tom. If you care for him and think you might want a closer relationship in the future, you shouldn't have run from it."

"Why did I? I don't understand myself." 

"You said it a moment ago. You were afraid and you were jealous. Are you still? Because if you are, there's no point in trying to revive the relationship." Chakotay couldn't believe he was matchmaking for Paris and Torres. Yet he wanted Torres to be happy. If Paris could make her happy, the gods knew how, then he would give them his blessing. "You said he was always flirting. Have you changed your mind?"

"Not exactly. I did some research though," she admitted.

"Research? What kind of research?" 

Torres flushed as she confessed, "I asked around about Tom's behavior---just girl talk, you know."

"I'm sure that was interesting." Chakotay was positive that was an understatement. He fought to keep his thoughts from showing on his face.

"In a way. You remember I said Tom was flirting with Diane Russell? The librarian?" Chakotay nodded so she continued. "It turns out he's been playing matchmaker for her and Dalby."

"Dalby?" Chakotay was amazed. Talk about opposites attracting. A lion and a mouse.

"I know. I can't see those two together either. Evidently, Tom noticed they were attracted to each other and made it his business to get them together at Sandrine's. It's seems to be some kind of hobby with Tom to pair people off. I found out that he sent Janine Lamont after Ethan Simms. He told her Ethan was never going to go beyond anonymous love letters if she didn't give him a clear signal---like tackling him and kissing him." Torres had to smile. She could hear Paris saying it, and it was so true. Ethan wasn't confident enough to make the first move. 

"What about Malista? What about other women? You said you weren't sure you could trust him. Can you deal with that?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. She studied the painting on his wall. "I don't think he's quite the playboy everyone thinks. You aren't going to believe this. I know I didn't at first. You know he chased Susan Nicoletti for six months? He never caught her. She says it was just a game. He flirted with her because she played hard to get. Neither one of them took it seriously. And the Delaneys? Same story. With everyone he's seen on the ship. He flirts---he's a great kisser---they all say that," she snapped irritably. "But it never went further than kissing and necking. And Megan Delaney, for one, wanted it to."

Chakotay couldn't hide his surprise. "So where did all these stories about Paris' reputation as a lady killer originate? Has Paris been lying?"

"*He* never told those stories. Of course, he didn't deny them either. I don't know. He doesn't seem to be the man he pretends to be. Maybe the stories got started because he flirts---or because he's so good-looking. Because people are jealous. Just gossip, I guess. The same kind of gossip that gets spread about me. And you. And everyone else."

"So?"

Talking to herself as much as to him, Torres thought about her conclusions. "So. Can I trust him? I don't know. Do I want to? Yes. Do I still have a chance? I don't know. Do you think he's in love with Malista?"

"I don't know. I don't think so," the first officer said. "In some ways, they're alike. She says they're friends. Do you believe Tom can be just a friend with an attractive woman?"

Torres looked at him indignantly. "Of course. I can be friends with men without it being anything else."

"Then you've decided you'd like to mend fences with him?"

"Mend fences?"

"Repair the damage to your relationship," he explained. 

"Yes. I want our friendship," Torres concluded, feeling a sense of peace that had been missing for some time. "He hides in the open. He never seriously let me in except when we were Vidiian prisoners. I want to see behind his mask. I want to find out if I could fall in love with him."

"How are you going to tell him?"

She scowled as she tried to think of a plan of action. "Now that's a good question."

*****************

 

There was more time for gossip right now and the grapevine was busy. Voyager was in orbit around an uninhabited planet that promised rich food supplies. While food-gathering teams were working on the planet, Captain Janeway decided to use the downtime to do a complete check of ship's systems and catch up on minor maintenance and repair tasks that had been neglected due to their low priority. To do this, she put everyone to work on double shifts. No one was expecting any trouble. Which was the first mistake.

Tom Paris was under the helm console, doing a routine maintenance check. He was adjusting the third power coupling when a shock of electricity and a bright blue flame jumped out, searing his left hand. "OW!" He reflexively rolled away, afraid more bursts of power might be forthcoming. 

"Tom! Are you all right?" It was the captain, kneeling at his side and inspecting the injury.

"What happened?" Harry Kim asked, looking up from his own readings in concern.

Paris bit his lip and took a moment to make sure his voice was under control before responding. "Power coupling blew. It's just a burn. But it shouldn't have shorted like that!"

"You didn't---" Kim began, only to stop short at the dirty look Paris threw his way. Of course, Paris wouldn't make an amateur's mistake like crossing the power source with a conductive material.

"Tom, get to Sickbay and have that taken care of," Janeway ordered. She offered him a hand to help him to his feet. 

He took it to provide balance and levered himself upright, careful not to let her bear too much of his weight. He cradled his injured hand against his chest to protect it. "It can wait, Captain. It must be a flawed coupling. I can replace it---"

"After you return from Sickbay," Janeway insisted. Despite his nonchalance, she could tell he was in pain from the burn. He was paler than usual and seemed to be clenching his back teeth.

"After I return from Sickbay," Paris echoed, with a faint grin. "Of course, Captain. That's just what I was thinking." 

After spending a few bright and lively minutes with the doctor, Paris hit his commbadge. "Lieutenant Paris to Lieutenant Torres."

"Go ahead." B'Elanna sounded exasperated. He must have interrupted something.

"Lieutenant, I need some replacement power couplings for the navigation---"

"I don't have anyone to send," she said abruptly.

Paris wondered if she was trying to pick a fight. He thought about answering just as rudely, but thought of a better tactic. He made an effort and sounded extremely, excessively, *overbearingly* polite---as if talking to a total stranger. "Thank you so much for your concern, Lieutenant Torres, but I can do the work myself---if I have the parts. Could you possibly tell me where to locate them?" 

There was a pause. A longer than necessary pause. He could almost see her hitting something and counting to ten before answering. "Yes, Lieutenant Paris," she said just as formally. "The power coupling replacements are in Cargo Bay 1. There's a Maintenance team working there. They should be able to help you locate the couplings you require. Torres out."

Though she couldn't see it, Paris couldn't resist a self-satisfied smirk. He'd pushed her button that time! She wasn't totally indifferent to him---no matter what she said! He made his way to Cargo Bay 1.

***********************

A shrill alarm shattered the quiet, sounding from Harry Kim's board. All eyes on the bridge turned toward his station. "Captain! We've got a hull breach! Cargo Bay 1. The automatic force fields aren't engaging!"

"Is anyone in there?" Janeway snapped.

"Reading four commbadges! Someone in the bay just triggered the manual controls. The breach is sealing." 

"Beam them directly to Sickbay," Chakotay said.

"Aye, sir." He carried out the order almost before it was spoken. "Oh, no!" Kim closed his eyes momentarily, not wanting to look at the data.

"Report, Mr. Kim!"

"Someone was---one of the signals was coming from outside the ship. The vacuum---" the ensign couldn't finish the sentence. 

"Can you identify---" Janeway asked.

"It's Dishon. The survivors are---" Kim double-checked the readouts. "Gerron, Shadow and---" He almost choked. "Tom Paris!"

*****************

Actually Tom's call had not interrupted anything except the argument that B'Elanna was having with herself. Part of her wanted to be direct and apologize to Tom for hurting him. Another part of her wanted to try pretending the whole incident had never occurred and attempting to resume their friendship without having to verbalize an apology. Yet another part---probably the Klingon---wanted to stalk him, capture him, and kiss him into submission. No, that might have been the human half. The Klingon wouldn't be satisfied with kissing.

When he made the call to Engineering using their ranks as a formality, B'Elanna was annoyed. He seemed to be distancing himself from her more each day. Some part of her had hoped that he would approach her again. So she answered rudely out of disappointment and sent him running errands. She returned to work with multiple verbal explosions as she made adjustments.

The hull breach alarm sounded simultaneously in Main Engineering, signaling for a repair crew. At her console, Torres identified the location. "Carey, take Alpha team and get to Cargo Bay 1 and seal the breach while the forcefield is still holding! Then get tractors or transporters working on recovering the cargo that's blown out and find out what caused it!" She quickly scanned the readouts sent down from Ops. "Cargo Bay 1? Oh, Kahless! I sent Paris down there!" She took off for Sickbay like a launched photon torpedo. 

****************

Janeway, Chakotay, Kim, and Torres arrived in Sickbay at almost the same moment. The doctor and Kes were working on someone on the surgical table---Gerron. Malista Shadow and Tom Paris were on biobeds, unconscious but alive. 

They looked terrible. The exposure to the cold vacuum of space had bruised their eyes, and burst capillaries created a purplish spider web effect under their skin. Blood was trickling from their noses and ears. Frozen vapor had frosted their hair and skin with ice crystals and caused their uniforms to crack and tear as if they were made of paper.

Without warning Paris' body suddenly convulsed as he drew in a deep, labored breath that lifted his body off the bed. His eyes started open, his arms flailing for something to hold onto as he regained consciousness, still unaware of his surroundings and in a state of panic. Harry was beside him in an instant. He caught his friend's left hand and held on tightly. "Tom!"

The blue eyes focused on him. His breathing, still labored, began to slow as he realized there was air and he could breathe again. "Harry? What---?" His voice sounded hoarse, as if his throat had been scraped raw when the air had been forced from his lungs by the lack of atmosphere. He put his right hand on his chest as if it reassured him to feel himself breathing. There was a rattle in each inhalation.

"I'm here, Tom," Harry put his other hand on Paris' shoulder, pushing him back down on the bed. "You'll be okay. You're in Sickbay. Relax. Try to take slow deep breaths." 

Torres was hovering on the other side of Paris' bed, trying not to draw his attention. She had to be there, to see for herself he was alive, but she wasn't sure he'd want to see her. She blamed herself. It was her fault he'd been in the cargo bay instead of safely on the bridge.

Those beautiful cerulean eyes found her. "Hi!" he croaked, trying to smile reassuringly. He seemed relieved and glad to see her there. He raised his free hand as if he were going to wave at her, but it dropped bonelessly back onto his chest. She took his hand between her own and rubbed it, trying to warm him. Reaching for a tissue, she tenderly wiped away the blood on his face.

Janeway and Chakotay were doing the same for Malista. She'd regained consciousness, but was staring listlessly at the ceiling. Kes brought blankets for each patient. "Gerron is going to be all right, too," she said. 

The captain turned to take the doctor's report. The EMH ran a tricorder over Malista's body as he spoke. "These two are less seriously injured than Crewman Gerron. The Bajoran circulatory system is not as efficient as the human system in dealing with exposure to a vacuum. They will recover. But they all need rest. You may talk to them in an hour or so." His tone was dismissive.

"Dishon?" Malista rasped.

Chakotay looked down at her. "I'm sorry."

She followed his look to the fourth biobed with the draped figure lying on it. She closed her eyes. Silent tears trickled down her cheeks.

*****************

"A plasma conduit ruptured," Joe Carey stated, looking around the briefing room at the senior staff the next morning.

"That wouldn't be enough to cause a hull breach," Torres interrupted. At a look from the captain, she subsided to let her assistant finish his report.

"In addition," Carey said, "there was a problem with a power converter in the same section. From what we've been able to piece together, the power converter was overheating due to a short caused by an overload. When the plasma came in contact with the electric current in that bulkhead, it created a breach approximately three feet across. The automatic force fields didn't activate because the location of the explosion destroyed the circuit relay in that section. It was a domino effect."

Janeway took a deep breath. Everyone in the room had the same stunned, dismayed expression. "So what you're telling me is---that because of three separate ---minor---malfunctions in one section of a bulkhead, we lost one crewman and almost lost three others?"

"Yes, Captain," Carey replied.

"Why didn't the diagnostics routine report the overload?" Kim asked. "Shouldn't it have shown up on the maintenance report?"

"There was no report of a problem. The diagnostics routine was apparently affected by the short. In fact, the computer insists there was no problem. Routine maintenance checks might have caught it if we'd been scanning there at that time. On the other hand, the whole problem may have developed within a five minute window of opportunity." Carey was a thorough engineer by nature and by choice. He hated to admit there were problems he couldn't solve and things he couldn't fix. These findings left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"So you're saying we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Paris asked tiredly, leaning back and resting his head on the back of his chair. He closed his eyes. He didn't look a lot better. The bruising and burst capillaries would take several days to heal. He looked like he'd been in a fist fight with a Tarellian warlord---and lost.

Harry and B'Elanna watched him with concern. The doctor had tried to keep Tom in Sickbay, but as always, that was a lost cause. Paris said he couldn't rest anyway until he knew what had happened. Giving in, the doctor had reluctantly released him with stern admonitions to rest and report any sudden changes in his condition at once. He didn't actually expect *Tom* to comply. He was counting on Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres to take better care of the pilot than Paris would himself.

Carey laid the padd containing his report on the briefing table. "I'm sorry, Captain. That's what I've been able to figure out. We recovered all the cargo that was expelled. The breach is permanently sealed again. We're running tricorder checks for similar problems on all decks as quickly as possible."

Janeway nodded. "Thank you, Lt. Carey. Dismissed." As he left, she turned her attention to Tom. Her eyes were warm and caring as she studied her pilot. "Tom, do you feel up to making a report now?"

With an effort, Paris opened his eyes and sat forward in his chair. He rested his arms on the table, leaning heavily on them for support. "Yes, ma'am. It all happened so fast!" He sounded amazed. His voice was still harsh and unlike his usual smooth tones. "After I left Sickbay---the first time---" Even tired and weak he couldn't resist a joke. "I went down to the cargo bay looking for a replacement for the power coupling in the navigational console. Malista and Gerron were repairing some antigrav lifts. Dishon---He was taking inventory of the crates of supplies. He was near the center of the bay. Malista and I were talking---I was asking her where to find the---" He stopped momentarily to cough, painfully. 

The doctor had repaired the ruptures in Tom's lungs, but only time could heal the irritation and soreness caused by exposure to vacuum and the lack of atmospheric pressure. "Malista was showing me where to find the power couplings I needed. There was an explosion---then the vacuum began to rush in, blowing the atmosphere out. Cargo boxes went flying. Everything was flying. I was flying. I tried to grab one of the cargo loading devices---they're anchored to the deck---but I was too far away. Things get fuzzy here. I have the impression that Malista did snag the cargo loader with one hand and me with the other. Dishon was behind me. I didn't see it, but---" Another longer coughing spell interrupted his narrative. 

Janeway patted his back gently. "Take your time. Harry, would you get him some water?"

Harry got a glass of cool water from the replicator and placed it carefully in Tom's hand. Tom took a few sips then set the glass down carefully, trying to pretend his hand wasn't trembling. "Sorry. Dishon was standing a couple of feet behind me. He was closer to the breach. He must have been blown out right away." 

He paused for a moment to get his voice under control. It wouldn't do to have his voice crack or show traces of tears. It would ruin his image. He couldn't help but think it was only a matter of a split second and a helping hand that allowed him to be alive and breathing---no matter how painfully.

"Where was Gerron?" Chakotay asked. 

Tom unconsciously shot him a look full of gratitude for the change of subject. "He was near the entrance. When the breach occurred, he was within a few feet of the control panel. He must have latched onto it and hit the manual override to enable the forcefield. He was fast. That boy was paying attention to his Starfleet training, Tuvok."

"Mr. Gerron is an able student," the Vulcan remarked pedantically.

Tom rolled his eyes at the understatement. "I'll tell him you said so."

Janeway regained the attention of the group by clearing her throat. "B'Elanna, we need to look into revising our procedures for routine maintenance and repair. One or more of these malfunctions should have been caught in time to prevent this."

"Captain---"

Janeway stilled her with an upraised hand. "I'm not blaming anyone. I know why we've been lax in taking care of minor problems. We've had so many major problems to deal with, the minor ones have been left to sort themselves out. But we have to do better. I will not lose another crewmember because of something like this!" Her voice seemed a little shaky with emotion. She was angry at herself for not doing a better job of prevention. "We need everyone on this crew. We can't afford to have senseless accidents robbing us of our most valuable resource. I want all department heads to come up with suggestions for improvements in scheduling and evaluating maintenance and repairs."

Chakotay nodded. He would notify the department heads.

"The memorial service for Niko Dishon is scheduled for 1100 tomorrow morning. Commander, I'd like for you to plan it. If possible, include Crewman Shadow. She was the closest he had to family," Janeway said. "How is she doing?"

"She's very withdrawn. That's understandable. I'll try to talk to her. The doctor dismissed her from Sickbay. I believe she's resting in her quarters," Chakotay reported.

"Well, if that's all---" Janeway paused. No one responded. "Dismissed."

Before Tom could rouse himself to make the effort to move, Harry was there on one side of him and Torres on the other. Harry extended his arm, locking his hand around Tom's forearm. Paris grasped his friend's arm and carefully pulled himself to a standing position, striving to get his balance. Torres slipped an arm around his waist. On the other side, Kim put his arm around Tom's shoulders. They began to walk him from the briefing room as Chakotay and Janeway smiled and watched. 

Paris swung his head back and forth. "This is nice of you, guys, but I can walk by myself. I'm not that weak."

"Just weak-minded," Torres said, but without her customary snap. "Shut up, Paris. We're taking you to your quarters."

"What if I don't want to go to my quarters?" Paris inquired.

"Shut up, Tom!" Harry Kim retorted. "The doctor said you should rest and you're going to rest! He made us promise to make you rest or drag you back to Sickbay so he could sedate you."

The lieutenant threw a bemused glance at the captain. "I guess I'd better shut up."

She shrugged and gestured toward the door. "We'll see you when the doctor has cleared you for active duty, Lieutenant. Have a nice rest."

The trio left the briefing room slowly, letting Paris set the pace so he wouldn't start coughing again. 

Chakotay raised an eyebrow at Janeway. "Together again?"

She smiled. "All for one and one for all? Possibly. I'm sure they still have some issues to work out, but it's possible."

"You know," Chakotay said frowning thoughtfully, "if Paris keeps showing this kind of growth and improvement for much longer---I might actually have to start liking him."

Janeway gave him a mock sympathetic look. "I'm sure it would be a hardship for you." Turning serious, she asked, "What's changed your mind?"

"Let's just say I've started sorting fact from fiction."

"That does make a difference," Janeway agreed.

******************

Paris felt a little embarrassed being seen in the hallways under escort, as it were, but he was gathering a great deal of solace from the warm, supportive embrace of his two best friends. The soreness and bruising along with the traumatic stress had left him feeling very shaky, both physically and emotionally. The comfort derived was mutually beneficial. Torres and Kim both had a need to touch Tom and reassure themselves that their friend was really still alive and would recover from the senseless threat to his life.

Upon reaching his quarters, they marched him straight into the sleeping area and sat him down on his bed. Torres knelt and pulled on his left boot. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

"You're going to rest if I have to get a phaser and stun you," Torres threatened tartly. "So shut up, let us undress you, and lie down!"

Taken aback by her vehemence, Paris complained, "Geez, Torres! It took me forty-five minutes to get my uniform on this morning! Can't I rest with my clothes on? Or is this just a sneaky plan to get my clothes off so you can have your way with me?"

Torres dropped his left boot and tugged his right one off without meeting his eyes. "Don't make jokes, Tom. I'm not in the mood," she said quietly. 

Peering down at her, Paris would have sworn he saw tears filling her eyes. And had she called him Tom? Not Paris? 

"B'Elanna?" he asked uncertainly. She wouldn't look at him.

Harry Kim glanced from one to the other. "Tom, why don't you just lie down? If it's an effort for you to get dressed, it might hurt you worse to get you undressed." He put his hand behind his friend's shoulder and helped him lower himself gently to the bed.

Torres stood up, took Tom's boots and put them out of the way, then returned to his bedside. "Do you want something to read? Some music? It might help you relax." The tears, if they'd really been there, were gone.

Paris was examining her serious face, trying to read her. "Sure, some music would be nice." He tried a smile, but couldn't quite bring it off.

"What kind of music are you in the mood for?" Kim asked, looking through Paris' computer menu for the available selections.

Paris winced as he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. "How about some cool jazz?"

B'Elanna brought a pitcher of water and a glass and put them within easy reach on the bedside table. "Is that the kind of music you play at Sandrine's?"

He started to answer before his mind fully processed the question. "Yeah, I like---What?" He met her eyes warily. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Play?" Harry said blankly. "Tom doesn't play an instrument." He turned to look at Tom. "Do you?"

Tom stared at B'Elanna. He didn't speak. He didn't know what to say. He didn't remember telling her---or anyone. She kept her eyes locked on his as she answered Kim. "As a matter of fact, he does, Harry. He plays the piano. After hours at Sandrine's."

Kim looked a little confused. There was more to this conversation than the words being spoken. "Why didn't you tell me, Tom? You could join the orchestra and---"

"I don't read music, Harry. I play by ear," Tom stated, his blue eyes lifted from Torres' brown ones. He studied the ceiling with excessive care, his expression as blank as he could make it as he waited for Harry's next question or comment.

"You could learn the songs by ear, Tom," Harry said eagerly. "We could use a keyboard---"

"I don't know any classical music."

"So?" Kim studied his friend's demeanor quizzically. "You could learn it if you wanted. How many times would you need to hear it? Or if you like jazz Chell's been trying to get someone to start a jazz band. Of course, he's talking Bolian jazz, but you could---" His voice trailed off as he noticed Tom's lack of response. "Okay, if you don't like Bolian jazz---"

"Harry," Torres interrupted. "Why don't you ask Tom why he never told you he played an instrument?"

Kim could tell his friend was uncomfortable with the conversation. "Maybe he thought I'd pester him to play with us and he didn't want to be bothered. I can be kind of a fanatic with music. Don't worry, Tom. I promise I won't nag."

Paris contemplated Kim's open expression as he reiterated, "I play by ear, Harry."

The ensign frowned. "So? Am I missing something here?"

"So you went to Julliard!"

"And?"

"And you were some kind of prodigy."

Kim still didn't get it. He glanced at Torres. "So what? What does that have to do with---" He broke off as the light finally dawned. "Oh. I went to Julliard. So I'm supposed to be some kind of music snob? Tom, I think it's great we have a love of music in common. Everyone's tastes are different. If you'd rather play for your own enjoyment, that's fine with me. If you want to play for a ship's performance, that's even better. I don't understand what this has to do with anything."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I should have known it wouldn't make a difference. I just hate to admit to my faults," Tom confessed.

"What fault?" Harry asked, putting his hand on Tom's shoulder. He was beginning to think Tom needed rest more than they'd thought. He didn't think Paris was reasoning too well.

"I play *by ear*." Tom repeated. He couldn't seem to make Kim understand. "My dad always said you shouldn't do something at all if you couldn't do it right."

"You don't read music because you never bothered to learn. That's not a fault. What difference does that make? At least you *have* an ear! The worst semester of my life at the Academy was the one when I had a tone-deaf roommate who insisted on whistling all the time. I wanted to murder him!" Kim laughed. 

Smiling reluctantly, Paris let it go. "Never mind, Harry. We'll talk about music some other time." He started to yawn, and was caught by surprise when his intake of air became a coughing fit. He pressed his hands to his chest trying to still the sharp pain in his sternum as he coughed.

B'Elanna poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his night stand. When the coughing subsided, Harry slipped an arm beneath his shoulders to lift him to a sitting position while Torres held the glass to his lips. Paris sent her a grateful look. "Thanks."

"Do you want me to ask the doctor for something for that cough?" Kim asked.

"Hell, no! I've been at his mercy too many times lately. I seem to spend half my life in Sickbay! I don't want to see him again!" Paris complained, lying back against his pillow. "Besides it would probably be an oral medication and they always taste terrible." He made a face, sounding about four years old.

Kim couldn't resist teasing his friend. "Maybe if you were a good boy, he'd give you a lollipop!"

"You wouldn't have to see the doctor so often if you didn't take so damned many chances with your life," Torres informed Paris tartly. She was definitely not in a joking mood. She spread a blanket over his feet and pulled it up to his chest.

Paris didn't know how to reply to that so he changed the subject. "Listen, I appreciate your help, but I think I'm going to take a nap. So you two can get back to work. But if you have some time, could you do me a favor and check on Malista? With losing Dishon, she's got to be feeling---well, I can't begin to imagine how she's feeling."

"I can," Torres stated bluntly. "She's feeling exactly the way I---and Harry would be feeling if it had been you that died." She stared into Paris' eyes, hiding nothing. It was time for honesty. And it was safer with Harry present so things wouldn't get out of hand.

Paris drew in a shaky breath. "B'Elanna?" He reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing it gently, wanting to do something to take away the pain and fear he read in those dark pools of brown. Her hand tightened around his.

Kim squeezed Paris' shoulder. His expression mirrored B'Elanna's. "I'm glad---" He was embarrassed as his voice cracked, but continued, "I'm glad you're okay, Tom. If there's anything we can do---?"

For the first time in a long time, Paris was so moved he couldn't speak. He couldn't even think of a smart remark or joke. He could feel his eyes burning as tears began to form. "Thanks. Both of you." He sniffed, hoping to keep the tears at bay. "Listen," he said, appealing to Kim, "Can we stop this before we really get mushy? I mean I'm tired and kind of shaky. I'm too glad to be alive to talk about the 'what ifs' right now."

Torres nodded solemnly. "But we will talk about this, Tom. This was an accident, but you do take too many risks with your life. And if I'm---we're going to have an interest in your life as your friends, I---we have the right to worry about you. And to try to protect you---even from yourself." 

Kim nodded his agreement.

Overwhelmed, Paris squeezed her hand again and closed his eyes and kept them closed. "I appreciate that. We'll talk later. Please. And don't forget Malista. If you understand how she feels, maybe you can help her deal with it." He desperately wanted to be alone right now. He had to think and he couldn't do it with Torres and Kim hovering. 

Kim gave him one final pat on the shoulder and started for the exit. Torres lifted Paris' hand to her face and rubbed her cheek against it. She kissed his palm then lay his hand on his chest. "Get some sleep, Tom. We have time to talk. Seventy years or so." She followed Kim out into the corridor. "Computer, put a privacy seal on Lt. Paris' quarters. No incoming messages unless it has an emergency priority. Authorization Torres Kappa Delta Pi."

"Good idea," Kim commented. "Do you want to go see Malista now?"

"It will be hard, Harry."

Kim looked at her questioningly.

Torres took his arm as they started walking. She'd felt Death's icy breath brush by much too closely. She'd almost lost Tom. She'd seen Harry die once. She needed to feel close to him, too---her first Starfleet friend. "I don't know about you, but while I feel sorry that Dishon is dead---if one of them had to die, I'm glad it wasn't Tom." Those damned tears were back---in her eyes and her voice. She darted a glance at Kim to gauge his reaction.

He was in the same condition. His emotions were on the surface as well after the close call. "And you feel guilty for being glad? I know." He cleared his throat. "I feel the same way. Glad and guilty. It's a natural reaction."

She appreciated his support and warmth as they walked together, silently as each one tried to think of what they could possibly say to comfort Malista Shadow. Physically, she was in the same shape as Tom. Mentally and emotionally? It must be much worse. 

**************** 

Chakotay had steeled himself to deal with an emotional outburst. There wasn't one. When he entered Crewman Shadow's quarters, she was sitting cross-legged on a chair, knitting a small pink blanket. She invited him to sit down with a gesture. "Malista, I'm here to plan Niko Dishon's memorial service."

She regarded him calmly. "It doesn't matter. Niko wasn't big on memorials. His favorite music tapes are in his desk in his quarters. I suppose you could play some of them. He really liked Sandrine's. The service should be there. He had good times there."

"Would you like to say a few words?" the first officer asked, trying unsuccessfully to read her emotionless expression.

"No." Her eyes dropped to her knitting. "I talked to Niko when he was alive. He would feel honored if you would be the one to speak. He respected the captain, but he still felt a greater loyalty to you."

Chakotay was at a loss. There were no more tears, no outward manifestation of grief. It had been only a day. Her physical condition was no better than Paris'. The bruising around her eyes and the spider webs of purple under her skin gave her a haunting and haunted appearance. Perhaps she was still in shock. "How are you feeling? Would you like to have someone with you? I could ask Paris---or if he's not up to it, Kes would ---"

"No!" she exploded. More calmly she continued, "No, thank you. I want to be alone. There's nothing anyone can do."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Talking won't change things."

"It might make you feel better," he suggested though he wasn't sure he believed it himself. She didn't respond. The needles clicked in her fingers, never ceasing the knitting motions. "Would you like to tell me what I should say at the memorial service? I knew Niko, but not as well as you did. Is there anything special I should say?"

That seemed to catch her attention. "He was---kind. He was my family. Tell them---he killed five Cardassians and saved my life at Huldon III. He was a brave man. He should be remembered as a hero." There were still no tears, but sadness replaced the deadness in her eyes. 

Something about her words rung false. "Is that what happened?" Chakotay asked. 

Her eyes flashed at him. "Tell them that."

"All right. Anything else?"

"No." The deadness had returned to her eyes and her face. "Thank you."

"If you need anything---"

"I know." She dismissed him from her mind before he was out the door.

******************

As Chakotay walked away from Shadow's quarters, he was a little surprised to see Torres approaching with her arm linked through Kim's. Torres wasn't given to public displays of affection. 

"Hi," Torres said. "We were going to see Malista. How is she?"

Chakotay looked over his shoulder at the door to her quarters. "Not good. I think you should wait a while. Maybe tomorrow after the memorial service she'll want to talk."

"We told Tom we'd try to check on her, but if you think we should leave her alone," Kim said, shrugging. "It's hard to know what to say."

Chakotay seemed disturbed. "I can't put my finger on it, but I get a bad feeling about the way she's dealing with this."

"How is she dealing with it?" Torres asked.

"She's just---she isn't. She's sitting there knitting something as if the fate of the world rests on her finishing it," the first officer replied.

"Maybe she's still in denial?" Harry suggested.

"Maybe. I'll have Kes check on her periodically. I'm surprised though at her lack of emotion. There were no tears. She didn't react the way I would expect."

The chief engineer shook his arm. "Chakotay, she's never put her emotions on display before. Everyone deals with grief in their own way. I'm sure she knows we'll be there for her. I mean if she won't talk to you, maybe she'll talk to me---or to Tom. He's her friend. She told me so."

"I still don't like it. I just can't put my finger on why. Something familiar, but just out of reach," Chakotay muttered. "It'll come to me sooner or later."

"You want to go get some Kaaba tea? Harry and I were going to have a cup then check on Paris again."

"That sounds nice. So tell me, did you get the hotshot tucked in? And did you have to stun him to do it?" 

*************

The memorial service for Niko Dishon was held at Sandrine's as per his 'family's' request. It was one of the quietest ever held on Voyager which had seen far too many similar services. Though the crew had seen death before, it had never seemed so random or so pointless as this one caused by three small malfunctions. They couldn't help but be aware that it could have been any one of them in Dishon's place and it made them feel unsettled and insecure.

Tom Paris and Gerron escorted Malista Shadow to her seat at the front of the room and sat on either side of her. Torres sat on Paris' other side and next to Harry Kim. Chakotay kept his remarks brief and to the point, saying what Malista had requested and recounting a few other details and anecdotes about Dishon's service, both in the Maquis and on Voyager. 

Many people were moved to tears. Malista Shadow was not one of them. She looked frozen---as if nothing---no words, no thoughts, no one could touch her. 

When the service ended, she turned to Paris. "Tom, I'd like for you, B'Elanna, Gerron, and Chakotay to join me for lunch in my quarters."

Paris frowned concernedly. "Are you sure you feel up to entertaining?"

"I've been accumulating a lot of replicator credits working two shifts," she replied. "It's not much work. Please. I want to have a---wake of sorts. Niko would have wanted it. I have the table set up and ready. If you'll invite the others, I'll go ahead and get things started."

"Sure," Paris agreed, but for some reason he didn't feel comfortable letting her leave alone. He turned to Torres. "B'Elanna? Would you take Malista to her quarters? She wants us there for lunch. I have to get the other guests."

B'Elanna smiled kindly at Paris then Shadow. "Of course. C'mon, we'll get ahead of the rush." 

"I don't need an escort." Her protests met resistance from two pairs of eyes, one bright blue and the other dark brown. "All right." She walked out with B'Elanna, shortening her stride so she wouldn't outdistance the shorter woman.

******************

Tom gathered the invited guests and delivered them to Shadow's quarters. It was a little crowded with the large table that had to accommodate five adults, but the food was wonderful. Malista must have done some research. Every food served was a favorite of one or more of her guests. It was an enjoyable meal though quiet, almost solemn at first. Malista started a conversation about music which eventually involved everyone, even the shy Gerron, as opinions flew freely. With the guidance of the hostess, the discussion ranged from music to art to literature of all cultures represented at the table. 

It was odd to see Malista smiling and talking just like any normal woman. Her behavior was unusual for her, but pleasant. Chakotay speculated that the shock of Dishon's death had led her to decide she should open herself up to life more.

Paris was torn between watching Malista and watching B'Elanna. He wasn't sure how B'Elanna would react if he continued his friendship with Shadow. He didn't want to jeopardize their renewed friendship. Yet he wasn't prepared to drop Shadow when she needed a friend so badly right now. He hoped B'Elanna would understand. He also hoped B'Elanna would believe his intention toward Malista had always been friendship---nothing more. He wasn't confident she would, given her reaction to seeing him with Lamont.

Torres caught Paris watching her. She read his thoughts on his face the third time she noticed how carefully he was trying to balance his attention equally between her and his hostess. She decided to reassure him. 

She dropped her right hand under the tablecloth and placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. That was a mistake! She almost giggled at Paris' reaction. First he jumped, then his big blue eyes stared at her in disbelief. He noticed Chakotay staring at him and quickly straightened his face, but not before giving her a warning glance that almost set her off in giggles again. 

She left her hand on his leg, drawing small circles with her index finger until he seized her hand with his own and placed both their hands on the table, with his hand atop hers, holding it in place. She tried to look properly chastened, but her brown eyes twinkled at him. Of course, Chakotay noticed and raised an eyebrow. She looked at him innocently and blinked deliberately.

The luncheon was such a success, it was hard to believe they'd come straight from a memorial service. When everyone had finished the last bite of the traditional Greek pastries served as dessert, Malista stood and raised her wine glass to offer a toast. "To Niko Dishon."

The others joined her and echoed, "Niko Dishon." Then it was time to go. 

Malista refused all offers of help in clearing everything away and shooed them out the door. Before he left, she gave Chakotay a data disk containing a will of sorts for the disposal of Niko's possessions. She seemed to be in good spirits and at peace.

Before they left, B'Elanna and Tom paused at the door. Tom slowly put his arms around Malista and pulled her into a hug, giving her a chance to resist if she wanted. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment as if feeling comforted. She pulled back and smiled. Now there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Tom. Thank you for being my friend. You'll never know how much it's meant."

He searched her eyes. "Are you going to be okay? I can stay---we can stay."

A single tear trickled down her cheek. She continued to smile at him. "No. Thank you for the offer. You need to rest as much as I do. Has anyone told you, Tom, that you look terrible?"

He smiled ruefully. "Now that's the pot calling the kettle black. Have you looked in a mirror?"

"Tom!" B'Elanna protested. They both looked at her. "I can't believe you said that."

"His rudeness is part of his charm," Malista explained with a half smile. 

"She started it," Tom accused sulkily. 

Torres took hold of his arm and dragged him out the door. "Excuse us, Malista. I think Tommy boy needs a nap. He's getting cranky."

Malista smiled and nodded. "By the way, B'Elanna, thanks for the loan of your friend. Keep him in line."

"Sure. He has his uses. Call me if you need anything---any time," Torres ordered. She pulled Tom down the corridor as Malista stepped back inside and closed the door.

A few yards down the corridor, Tom abruptly stopped walking. 

"What?" Torres asked, staring up at him. "What's the matter?"

Paris looked at her consideringly. After a moment, with a perfectly serious expression he said, "B'Elanna, I really need a hug right now." He didn't have to wait long for her response. 

She carefully wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tightly to her body. Her head rested on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head atop hers feeling her warmth steal over him like a security blanket. She felt encouraged that he hadn't made a joke of the simple request for comfort. He was learning he didn't have to use humor all the time. Maybe he was learning to trust her. Maybe she was learning to trust him. "Better?" she asked.

"Much." He pulled back from the hug, keeping one arm around her, and started walking again.

"Are you worried about her?"

"Yeah. But I don't know why. There was something in her eyes. She's a little too calm. Did you notice?" he asked.

"Not really. But then I'm not good at noticing things unless it has to do with Engineering," she stated. "Listen, if she needs someone to talk to, she'll probably call you. If not, you can call her later and check on her."

"You don't mind?" Paris asked tentatively. 

Torres stopped walking and gazed up at him solemnly so he wouldn't misunderstand what she was saying. "She saved your life. I owe her---big time! She's your friend---maybe someday we can all be friends. I wouldn't push myself on her right now. If she needs to see you alone, I don't have a problem with that. No matter what the betting pool says."

Paris snapped to attention. "Betting pool? What does the betting pool say?"

"Never mind, Hotshot!"

"Hey! I should get in on the action!"

"Over my dead body---or yours!" 

******************

It was almost 2400 hours. Midnight. The witching hour. Time for all good boys and girls to be asleep. Except Tom Paris couldn't sleep. The nap he'd taken that afternoon at B'Elanna's insistence had robbed him of the desire to sleep now. He turned on his computer, thinking he would look for something to read. He had an incoming message. He punched it up. It was from Malista. A poem.

"I found this in the database and thought it was appropriate for you, my friend. :

TO A FRIEND by Grace Stricker Dawson

You entered my life in a casual way,  
And saw at a glance what I needed;  
There were others who passed me or met me each day,  
But never a one of them heeded.  
Perhaps you were thinking of other folks more,   
Or chance simply seemed to decree it;  
I know there were many such chances before,  
But the others---well, they didn't see it.

You said just the thing that I wished you   
would say,  
And you made me believe that you meant it;  
I held up my head in the old gallant way,  
And resolved you should never repent it,  
There are times when encouragement   
means such a lot,  
And a word is enough to convey it;  
There were others who could have, as easy   
as not---  
But, just the same, they didn't say it.

There may have been someone who could have done more  
To help me along, though I doubt it;  
What I needed was cheering, and always   
before  
They had let me plod onward without it.  
You helped to refashion the dream of my   
heart,  
And made me turn eagerly to it;  
There were others who might have (I   
question that part)---  
But, after all, they didn't do it!

Thank you, Tom." Malista

 

Tom was moved by the sentiment of the poem. It made him feel warm, but somehow the message also made him uneasy. There was something teasing at the back of his mind. He ran through the day's events in his mind, searching for a clue. The look in Malista's eyes when he'd hugged her good-bye after lunch---he recognized it. He just didn't know how. He felt compelled to go check on her.

He was approaching her quarters from one side when he met Torres and Kim coming from Sandrine's. "You're supposed to be resting," Harry accused.

Tom was frowning. "Have you seen Malista?"

"She's not in her quarters?" Torres asked.

Paris hadn't thought to find out. His anxiety had led him there without thought. "Computer, locate Crewman Shadow."

"Crewman Shadow is in her quarters."

Paris hit the door signal. There was no response. 

"It's kind of late, Tom. She might be asleep," Harry protested. "She's off duty."

Paris hit the signal again. His nerves were jittery and getting more so. Still no answer. "Computer, override lock on Crewman Shadow's quarters." 

"Authorization?"

Paris didn't have clearance---or if he did, he couldn't think of the right words right now. He shot a pleading glance at B'Elanna who was picking up his edginess. Her intuition was starting to signal that something was amiss. "Authorization, Torres, Engineering Kappa Delta Pi."

The door slid open. "Computer, lights. Standard illumination." Paris was moving faster, as he quickly searched the quarters. Everything was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. She wasn't there, but her commbadge was lying on her desk. Next to it was the pink material she'd been knitting. There was a note attached with the name 'Kim Wildman' printed on it clearly. She'd finished the blanket for Samantha's baby. Why would she bother to label it? She could deliver it herself. Where could she be?

"Why would she leave her commbadge?" Kim asked.

"She doesn't want to be found."

"Tom, what's going on?" B'Elanna demanded. 

Paris closed his eyes as he tried to think clearly. "God, I hope I'm wrong." He stared at Kim and Torres. "I think she might be---I don't want this to get out! I could be wrong! I think she could be planning to commit suicide!"

Kim looked shocked. "Why would you think that? You said she was acting normally at lunch."

"That's the point, Harry. She was saying good-bye. She put her things in order, made her plans, had a farewell lunch---she'd already decided on when and how. She made a point of saying goodbye to all of us when we left her quarters. I knew I'd seen that look before! Why am I so stupid? I should have expected it." He couldn't think! "How can we find her?"

"Tom! It's her choice, not yours. Let's find her and stop her," B'Elanna snapped. 

"Computer, use internal sensors to locate any human life form not identified with a commbadge."

"Computer, omit those who are not alone," Kim added.

"Working," the computer responded.

Torres stared at Kim. "She wouldn't be with anyone else. She'd be somewhere she could be alone and uninterrupted. And some people don't wear commbadges when they're in their quarters," Kim explained.

"Within the parameters given, there is one human female on Holodeck One. A privacy lock is in place," the computer reported.

Paris, Kim, and Torres burst out into the corridor and almost ran over Chakotay who was approaching with an anxious look on his face. "Did she---"

"Holodeck One!" Paris shouted, barely slowing as he ran, holding his side and breathing hard, with Torres and Kim on his heels. Chakotay spun and joined in the chase.

"Computer, open Holodeck One! Override privacy lock---authorization Chakotay Gamma Delta Twelve." The doors slid open. The four stopped to catch their breath and entered quietly, not knowing what to expect. Paris' Lake Como program was running. 

Malista was standing at the top of the hill, leaning against a tree as she watched the sunset over the lake. She was dressed in a white peasant blouse and a long white skirt. She had a wine glass in her left hand. She heard them coming. They let Paris take the lead, Chakotay, Torres and Kim hung back so they wouldn't precipitate any action.

"Go away." 

"Malista, let's talk," Tom said earnestly. "We need to talk about this."

"Damn. I knew I shouldn't have sent that poem. You're too damned smart. I should have told the computer to wait till tomorrow."

"Malista, don't. Please! Don't!" Tom was at the bottom of the hill now, about twenty yards below her. 

She seemed to be in an introspective mood. "I knew you were smart, Tom. I should have known you'd figure it out too soon. Stop. Don't come any closer." She lifted her right hand from the folds of her white skirt. She had a long, wicked-looking knife.

"You wouldn't hurt me," Tom stated confidently, taking another step nearer.

"No, but you could force me to do this the hard way." She held the knife to her own throat. "The messy way. I'd planned to use hemlock. Traditional Greek to the end." She held up the wine glass as if making a toast.

Tom froze. "You're determined to do this?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you found out. Was it just the poem? Or did I slip up?" She asked curiously. She was so serene the whole scene seemed surreal. 

"I knew I recognized the look in your eyes. I'd seen it before," Paris said, trying to match her calm.

"Oh, really? Where? Or should I say who?"

"In the mirror. There was a time when I thought about it. More than once actually." Vaguely Paris was aware of a loud gasp behind him. He couldn't afford to think about other people or their reactions right now. He was focused on Malista. He had to stop her. He didn't think he could stand it if she did this. 

"What stopped you?" she asked, almost dreamily, her words were slightly slurred. Tom suspected she'd been drinking wine---and not syntheholic wine---for some time before adding the poison to the glass. 

"A poem. I was reading a book of poetry while I waited for a chance to---anyway, there was a poem called 'To The Men Who Lose' by some human named Scarborough. Would you like to hear some of it? I memorized it."

"You're just stalling," she accused. 

"No, really. The best one is the second stanza. Listen: 

Here's to the men who lose!   
If triumph's easy smile our struggles greet,   
Courage is easy then;   
The king is he who, after fierce defeat,   
Can up and fight again." 

Paris slid his foot a little higher on the hill. If he distracted her, he might get close enough to pin her before she could use the poison or the knife.

"That's a good poem. I wish I'd had a chance to read it." She held up the glass of wine and rubbed the rim of the glass against her bottom lip. "Tom, stop moving---unless you want to leave."

"Tell me why you want to do this," Paris pleaded. "Help me understand."

Her response was between laughter and tears. "Tom. You're sweet. But think about it---why shouldn't I? It would be easier to be dead." Her voice broke. 

"Easier than what?" Tom asked quietly.

"Easier than life. Easier than living with no family---no friends. Easier than living with guilt!" She was turning inward again, tortured by her thoughts.

"What guilt? Huldon III? Is this what it's about?" Chakotay came to stand at Paris' shoulder.

She nodded slowly. "That's where it started. This is where it's ending."

"What happened there?" Chakotay asked. "Was Dishon the hero you said?"

She answered Chakotay's question, but looked only at Paris. "You said you'd heard about Huldon III? Dishon and I were the only survivors. Try living with the guilt of surviving when three others didn't. It would be easier to be dead," she repeated insistently.

"I have lived with it. Remember Caldik Prime? Who killed the Cardassians, Malista?" Tom asked, suddenly sure he knew.

"They asked who wanted to be interrogated first. I volunteered." Tears were streaming down her face completely unnoticed. She kept playing with the knife, running it lightly across her throat as she spoke. A small slip and she could cut her jugular vein, bleed to death within minutes. "See, I'd heard that the Cardies liked to take their time with the female prisoners. I thought maybe I could buy some time to wait for the rescue attempt."

What a price she'd been willing to pay to save her friends! It hurt for Tom to breathe. He couldn't imagine what she'd been through. "Malista, I'm sorry you had to experience that. But it's over---"

"That's not all!" The words had been bottled up for more than five years. She'd started telling it. She'd tell the whole thing. She had to make Tom understand why she was ready to die. "They took me first, but then they beat the others--- They beat Jano, Lanal, and Hapay to death to get me excited so it would be more fun to rape me. I didn't struggle at first. They found out I could stand my own pain, but I hated it when they hurt the others. They couldn't break me so they used the others. They'd just started on Niko---" she choked for a moment.

"They started in on Niko. The blood made my arm slippery so I got my arm free. I grabbed the Cardies' rifle. Only one of them was armed. They didn't expect any trouble from us. They'd already killed---already hurt---I blasted my restraints and stunned the Cardies holding Niko. As the one next to me fell, I grabbed the knife he'd been---playing with." She drew the knife she held down her cheek as if remembering. "I cut my hair off so I could get off the table. I used to have long hair. Did you know that?"

Paris held her eyes. "No, you never told me." 

"It was down to my waist. The Cardies used it like a rope to tie my head to the examination table they used. That's why my hair's so short now. Never again." She shook herself out of her reverie and returned her attention to Tom, looking at him vaguely. "Where was I?"

"You stunned the Cardassians," Paris supplied, sliding his other foot higher up the hill.

"That's right. Niko killed one of the Cardies. I'd stunned the other four by then. The Cardies were just lying there unconscious. All of them. Then I went crazy. I just---went crazy. Have you ever heard of a berserker? That's what I was. I hacked them to pieces with their own knife. While they were lying there unconscious. The next thing I knew, Niko was holding me and telling me it was over. But it wasn't. It wasn't really over till Niko died." She put the knife against her throat, pressing more firmly into her flesh this time, causing an indentation.

"Malista, Niko wouldn't want you to do this!" Paris argued. "He wanted you to live."

"He made me live." There was resentment in her voice. "I had to live or he couldn't deal with the guilt of being the only survivor. Even though I was damaged goods, Niko wanted me around. He didn't want me for himself or anything. He just needed me to be his friend."

Paris could feel her slipping away. She was working herself up to it. "Malista, you owe it to yourself to live. There's a reason you survived."

"Tom, how can you think that? You, of all people? You survived Caldik Prime. Look what it did for you. Ruined your life. Disowned by your family. You're damaged goods, too. Both of us. It would be easier to be dead. It would be easier to be dead." The repetition sounded like a mantra. She seemed to be trying to convince Paris she was right---as if to win his approval of her action.

Chakotay touched Paris's shoulder. "There's something else. This isn't only about the past," he whispered. "She may feel guilty for surviving this time too."

Paris nodded, without taking his eyes off her. "Malista, when we were in the cargo bay, what happened? You grabbed my arm, didn't you? You saved my life. Did I ever thank you? I meant to."

She said nothing. 

"You snatched a cargo loader with one hand and grabbed my arm with the other, right?" 

Her eyes were going blank. Finally, she said, "Yes. I saved you. " She held the knife in front of her face and studied it. "I did. I chose you. Instead of Niko."

Tom felt he was caught in a nightmare as he followed the implication. "You tried to save Niko?"

"I tried. I reached for both of you. I locked my legs around the cargo loader. I caught you. I didn't catch him. I didn't catch---him." Her voice was trembling. The knife was shaking in her grasp.

"You tried!" Paris said desperately. "He was further away than I was. You couldn't reach him."

"If I'd let you go, I could have." She looked at him like a lost child, hoping for reassurance. "Couldn't I?"

"No. He was standing at least five feet behind me. You couldn't reach him! There was no way you could have helped him. It wasn't your fault!" Paris felt tears running down his own cheeks. "You saved my life because I was standing closest to you. You didn't choose to save me and let Niko die. Don't take on blame and guilt that isn't yours! You did your best!"

"I lived for him!" she shouted. "Don't you understand? I wanted to die after Huldon III, but I lived for him. Because he wanted me to. He's dead. There's no reason for me to live. I'm damaged goods! I'll never be whole again! There's nothing---no one left to live for."

Paris shouted right back at her. "You can't live your life for someone else! Not your friends, not your family, not anyone other than you! You have friends on this ship. You could have a family of your own. You have to want to live for you---no one else! You're talking to the expert here! If you aren't living for yourself, you'll never be happy. Because you're trying to live up to their standards or live the way they want you to. You have to live your own life---not someone else's. You have another chance to make a new life for yourself here. The way I want---the way I have."

She was trembling, shaking so hard Paris was surprised she could stand. Suddenly a transporter beam activated with pinpoint accuracy taking the wine glass and the knife. "No!" she screamed. "No! Please!" Whimpering, she fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around her waist. 

In a split second Paris was up the hill, knelt and locked her in his arms. He pressed her sobbing face into his shoulder and let her cry as they rocked back and forth. He cried with her. "Malista, we couldn't let you do this. You're my friend. I don't have very many. I don't want to lose you. We'll help you deal with this. We'll get you counseling and treatment. Voyager is our family now. We are not damaged goods." He repeated the last two phrases over and over as she began to calm down. "Voyager is our family. We are not damaged goods."

Chakotay came up the hill more slowly. When her sobs had abated, he reached down to help the two of them get to their feet. "Transporter room two, three to beam directly to Sickbay."

******************

Paris and Chakotay were waiting in the doctor's office while the Doc and Kes undressed and sedated Malista Shadow. Tom leaned against the glass partition, feeling physically and emotionally depleted. He didn't have the energy to move---or to think. One arm cradled his aching ribs and his breathing was ragged.

Chakotay took in his pallor. "Paris, why don't you sit down? Before you fall down."

The lieutenant looked him in the eye. Enunciating exaggeratedly, he said, "My name---is Tom." 

Chakotay nodded and almost smiled. "Okay---Tom, sit down." He pulled a chair over and placed it behind the pilot. He waited till Tom had slowly collapsed before asking, "So how did you know?"

"Funny. I was going to ask you the same question," Paris replied.

"Did you mean it? You thought about suicide yourself?" Chakotay asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Yes," Tom replied indifferently. He was so emotionally drained, he felt apathetic. "Three times. When my mother died. Just before I joined the Maquis. And when I went to prison."

"What stopped you?" Chakotay wanted to understand.

Paris shrugged. "I could hear my father saying it was the coward's way out. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right again---and having the last word. And somehow, each time, at the last minute---I just couldn't. Maybe I read too many poems and stories. I always found a tiny seed of hope that somehow things could change. That my life could count for something---with someone."

"No one helped you?" 

Paris looked up to find Chakotay's eyes filled with concern---and something else he couldn't identify. "I didn't act or look like I needed help. On the surface. They accepted me at face value. I didn't let anyone get close. No one cared enough to try very hard. That's why I had to help Malista. Even before I realized what I recognized in her, I knew I couldn't just stand by and watch her struggle." 

Torres and Kim burst into Sickbay and joined them in the office. 

"Who had the idea to use the transporter?" Chakotay asked.

Torres stood behind Paris' chair and began gently kneading the knots from his shoulders. It helped him and gave her an excuse to touch him. "I thought of using it. Harry worked out how to set the parameters."

"Which isn't easy with small inanimate objects that are being moved around," Kim added. "Sorry it took so long."

"I'm just glad it worked."

"Tom, how did you know she was going to kill herself?" Torres asked.

So how did I know?" Paris gazed tiredly at nothing. "The farewell dinner, the way she said good-bye when we left her quarters, she let me hug her---mostly the look in her eyes. And like I told her, I'd seen that look before. More than once. How did you know, Chakotay?" He leaned back into B'Elanna's massage and tried not to purr his pleasure in her touch and the warmth of contact. He'd never realized how comforting another's touch could be. Especially when it was someone you cared for.

"The same things mostly. Training at Starfleet Academy. Some of the things she said about her relationship with Dishon. I knew there was something I didn't like about the way she reacted. She was too calm. Suicides may be depressed and acting out, but once they've reached the decision, they usually seem calm and normal. I didn't figure it out till about thirty minutes ago," Chakotay admitted.

"What happens now?" Kim asked.

"Counseling. If she's willing she can work with me or the doctor---or Tom," Chakotay said. 

It sounded like a compliment. That caught Paris' attention. "I'm not a counselor."

"You did an excellent job tonight," the first officer replied. "But on second thought it might not be a good idea. You wouldn't want her to become dependent on you. She shouldn't exchange Dishon for you as someone to live for. The captain and I will discuss her treatment with the doctor. For now, Malista is sedated and the doctor will monitor her closely."

Kim and Torres helped Paris out of his chair and slipped their arms around him. "Guys! I can walk!" he protested weakly, more out of habit than honest conviction.

"Shut up, Tom!" his friends said in unison. He sighed and surrendered.

Chakotay looked amused. "You better get the hotshot to bed. He looks ready to fold. And you two better get some sleep. You have about four hours till you report for duty. Tom can sleep late since he's still on medical leave."

They were at Tom's door, when B'Elanna suddenly commented, "Chakotay called you Tom. He never calls you Tom."

"Yeah, well---"

"What did you do?" she demanded suspiciously.

"I told him---my name is Tom."

*******************

Tom Paris, completely healed and healthy, had returned to Holodeck One and his Lake Como program. He'd made a few alterations. Now there was a picnic table next to the lake and on it a basket containing his favorite replicated foods. There was a lacy tablecloth and a branch of candles to provide a romantic glow. 

He paced nervously waiting for B'Elanna to arrive for their first date. Their first real date. He couldn't believe she'd actually agreed to meet him here. Without Harry. Or Nicoletti. Or anyone else. Just the two of them. She said she wanted to talk. So did he. He was watching the boats on the lake when he heard the door.

"Computer, put a privacy lock on Holodeck One till further notice. Authorization Torres Kappa Delta Pi."

Tom turned to look at her and froze in his tracks. She was walking toward him wearing the red dress he'd given her for her birthday. The one she'd tucked away in the bottom of her dresser. His eyes widened as she drew closer and he stared at the lovely image before him.

The dress was a form-fitting, sequined sleeveless sheath of a deep red that dramatically highlighted B'Elanna's exotic beauty. It stopped just above her ankles with a slit up the side almost halfway up her right thigh to give her freedom of movement. Every curve and line of her body was molded and flattered by the lines of the dress. 

She had swept her hair up on top of her head, leaving the long expanse of bare skin from neck to shoulder exposed and tempting. To complete the outfit, she had added red sandals with three inch heels and ruby dangle earrings. She'd never felt more attractive or womanly in her life. The sight of Paris gaping at her increased her pleasure and she smiled at him seductively. "Well, are you going to say anything?"

He never thought he'd actually get to see her wear the dress. He couldn't believe how incredibly beautiful she was and how much he enjoyed seeing her in the dress he'd chosen for her. His mouth opened then closed. He didn't know what to say. His silent, approving stare, gave way to a brilliant smile. "Wow!" he finally choked out.

B'Elanna was amused by his loss of poise. She'd wanted to knock him off his feet---and she'd succeeded. "Wow?" she repeated. "Tom, if that's all you have to say, this is going to be a short evening." 

He shook himself, blinked a few times, and tried again. "B'Elanna, you look---I can't believe---I mean I knew you would look beautiful, but---Wow!" He made an effort to regain his composure. "I mean, you look lovely. You are absolutely dazzling in red. Especially that red. Dress, I mean."

She came forward and took his arm. "You're babbling," she said sweetly.

He smiled down at her. "Yeah. I tend to do that in the presence of ravishing women. Would you like to sit down? If I'd known you were going to wear that, I'd have worn something more---formal." He glanced down at the long-sleeved silk shirt and navy trousers disparagingly.

"You look fine," she purred. "Better than fine." He always looked well-dressed, almost elegant in anything he wore, even his uniform. With his looks and style, he could have been a model for a catalogvid. She wondered if he realized the sapphire blue of his shirt echoed the blue of his eyes and the effect that was having on her breathing.

The conversation came to a slightly awkward halt as he seated her and poured the champagne. He reached into the basket and set the food out on the table. They nibbled desultorily, occasionally sipping the champagne. They stared at each other admiringly for a few silent moments.

Torres caught herself staring at his lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss him. She'd heard enough comments from others about what a wonderful kisser he was. She wanted to find out for herself. But not right now. She took a deep breath. "So? Let's talk."

"About what?"

"Anything. Everything. We have time."

"Can I tell you again how beautiful you are?" he said, smiling tenderly.

She could feel herself blushing. "Thank you, Tom. And thank you for this wonderful dress."

"I never thought you'd wear it for me," he confided. "I thought you'd think that I thought---" He stopped, trying for a light touch. "This will get confusing if I keep it up."

She smiled at him. "What's new? Why did you give me this dress for my birthday, Tom? It's not exactly my usual style."

His smile was fading. "I don't want to ruin this evening. Maybe I'd better not answer."

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'll probably get angrier with the answers I imagine. Tell me. Why did you?"

He was tempted to make up something that would satisfy her curiosity, but decided she deserved his honesty. "Because I like you. Because I thought you would look---like you look right now. Because Starfleet uniforms are not very feminine, and somehow---I got the idea that you didn't think you were pretty. I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you," he answered softly. 

She knew he was thinking of the time they were prisoners in the Vidiian mining colony. She'd told him how as a child she'd tried to hide her ridged forehead. How she'd tried to look human. Since then she'd avoided talking with him or anyone else about the trauma of being split into her Klingon and human selves. She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "Thank you, Tom. For the gift of the dress. For the way you helped me with the Vidiians and---everything. I never said it before. I didn't want to admit how much your encouragement meant to me." She waited, almost wincing, for him to crack a joke. The mood was getting too serious. He wouldn't let it last.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad I was there with you." That was all. No joke, no smart remark. Kahless! His eyes seemed even bluer when he was serious.

"Tom, can I ask you something? When I was human---just human---did you think I was pretty?" She waited, holding her breath for his answer. She'd always wondered what she'd look like as a full human. She'd never expected to find out.

He seemed to be struggling with an answer. "Bella, I don't know how to explain this. The human B'Elanna was lovely. The Klingon B'Elanna was wildly attractive. But neither one of them made me feel the way you do. I know it probably doesn't make sense. You're all the same person---sort of. But if all three of you, the human you, the Klingon you, and the *you* you---I mean the real you, were all members of this crew, I think I'd still want you---the real you." Paris looked as confused as his words had become. "I'm sorry. Did I answer the question?"

"Yes. You did," Torres replied, her smile mixed with tears. "Tom, I want to be honest with you. More honest than I was in the mess hall that day." She didn't have to be more specific. They both knew the day she meant. "I don't know if I'm ready for a---relationship. I don't want you to get the idea that because I'm here, because I'm wearing this dress, it means that I intend to---Oh, Kahless! I don't know how to say this without sounding arrogant or stupid!"

"It's okay, B'Elanna." He reached out and cupped her jaw in his long slender fingers, gently caressing the softness of her cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to rush into an affair or a relationship---or whatever you want to call it. We have time. I want you to understand---I don't have romantic feelings for any woman except you. I know my reputation---"

"Don't, Tom. I know there's a lot of gossip. You don't have to explain."

"Bella, I tend to be a friendly guy. Some women misinterpret that friendliness. I'll admit I haven't always been careful about making it clear where I stand. But honestly, females have been chasing me since I was four years old! Sometimes I didn't run away very fast. Sometimes I used my looks and charm to get what I wanted or needed. But I tried never to hurt anyone," he said earnestly. "I know we aren't ready to make promises to each other. We really don't know each other that well. But we can take our time. There's no hurry. I don't want to rush you or hurt you. But, please, don't ever send me away again. I think I can take anything but that."

She nodded, rubbing her cheek into his palm, delighting in the strength and warmth of his hand and long slender fingers. She sat back in her chair and smiled at him. "I think we should stop the heavy discussions for now. Can we talk about other things?"

"Like what?" 

"Shoes and ships and sealing wax? Of cabbages and kings?" B'Elanna suggested with a grin.

"And why the sea is boiling hot---and whether pigs have wings?" Paris was delighted. "You never told me you were a fan of Lewis Carroll!"

"You never told me you were either. My dad left behind a collection of ancient children's literature when he left."

"Have you read....?" The conversation went on for hours. 

According to the ship's grapevine, Torres and Paris were on Holodeck One for five hours. She was wearing a red hot, lust-inspiring dress. He was wearing a cool sapphire blue lust-inspiring shirt and navy pants. Witnesses reported Lieutenant Paris escorted Lieutenant Torres to her quarters and they were seen kissing---a seven on a one to ten scale according to one source, a nine according to another. He did not enter her quarters. They were both tired, but in a good mood when they reported for duty the next day. The gamblers involved in the betting pool went completely nuts.

 

The End - Trials 1


End file.
